


Even If the Sky Does Fall

by BronzeAgeLove



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Gen, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-11-08 03:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20828882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BronzeAgeLove/pseuds/BronzeAgeLove
Summary: Captured by batarian slavers after a hostage recovery gone wrong, Hierarchy Captain Ianus Etherian has to come to terms with his deep-rooted trauma and long neglected PTSD while trying to keep his flock together- not an easy feat, given he's stuck with his most unruly ensign and the ghosts of his past are out to haunt him...





	1. A Talk Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first true multi-chapter fic I have ever written, and it's taken me most of this year to convince myself that it is worth posting, so I hope you'll like it! Please don't hesitate to drop me a line either as a comment or on [ my Tumblr](https://bronzeagelove.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Story is complete, and updated Wednesdays!
> 
> Beta-read by [ skylo-ben ](https://skylo-ben.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Soundtrack for the WIP: [ Starset - Die For You ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJxSNbAer9M)

If there was one thing Captain Ianus Etherian loved doing, it was raining hell on batarians. He‘d stand on the bridge of his cruiser, tall and broad with his hands clasped behind his back, and occasionally give a growled command. He‘d watch with a satisfied thrum of his subvocals when the orbital bombardments hit, obliterating hideouts, or bunkers, or camps — it didn‘t matter. It was subtle, but those close enough to him knew that tell-tale stroke of a hand along his chest plates, where a deep gash remained. While the cut itself had scarred over, the deeper emotional wound still remained, raw and festering.

No matter what he tried to make everyone believe.

* * *

It was rare for Hierarchy ships to venture into the Terminus Systems — for obvious reasons. Truth be told, Captain Ianus had felt uneasy when he had agreed to the plans put forward to him. But Blackwatch needed someone to escort two of their agents, and so, with little more than an uneasy mandible twitch, Ianus agreed to lend them the _Invictus_ to escort them down to Emarr station. For someone such as Ianus, who had always made sure to conform to the never-ending list of rules and regulations, the Blackwatch were a source of distrust in his own ranks — the way the special forces were allowed too many liberties in handling their missions rubbed him the wrong way. On that note, he didn't very much trust the numerous Terminus factions grappling for a string or two to pull either. The mood on the whole cruiser was subdued ever since, and though Ianus appealed to all of them not to leave the ship at any cost, he had an inkling no one would even try to. Despite the novelty of a Hierarchy cruiser out in the Terminus, it wasn’t difficult to conjure a reason why they should be there- turian military handled most of the Council’s missions. A foreign ship sporting the Hierarchy’s colours could mean any kind of business, from shipping to security escorts. On record, they were docked to resupply on raw materials, so no one asked any questions about two unarmored figures strolling down the landing ramp between the cargo containers being loaded onboard.

And yet, even though he was sitting in his cabin, safe on his ship, with enough firepower to obliterate the entire station if needed, Ianus felt insecure. He always did when he knew there were batarians around. The batarian hegemony was a thorn in the Council’s side, a constant threat roaming the fringes of their influence. There were rumours of slavers attacking colonies, regardless of race. They were merciless, driven by selfish greed, always forward, forward. 

Ianus never hid the fact that he hated batarians. He didn’t feel bad about it, and most turians didn’t, either. Batarians were hard to talk to even with a translator. Turians were easy of course. A flaring or twitch of the mandibles, or lowering them to intimidate or flirt. Males showing off the length of their fringe to assess their position. The shift in subvocal melody to convey certain emotions, a bob or tilt of the head. It was as natural as breathing. Even the other alien species — asari, salarians, the human newcomers — their faces were simple enough to read. After some time, the way their strangely soft skin moved and bunched showed every emotion overly clear. But batarians — with their four eyes, how they blinked in patterns, always seemed to be grinning… that was profoundly unsettling. 

Ianus had only met batarians up close twice: first on a reconnaissance mission in the Attican Traverse, where his squad had triumphed against a slave ring taking turian settlers, and the second, one year later, of which Ianus was the sole survivor. Batarians were the source of a blight that ailed the galaxy, and Ianus was hell bent on doing everything in his might to make sure the Hegemony knew their place. 

He wouldn’t soon forget what they did to him.

Stifling a growl, he got up for a drink of water and a glance at himself in the mirror. His scrutinizing gaze set on his face, then his uniform. A square jaw, and light grey eyes that always seemed dissatisfied, the way they flashed bright in his otherwise dark plated face. Ianus wasn’t handsome by turian standards — his face too angular, body too bulky and broad-shouldered where a certain streamlined shape was favoured — but he made a few seductive faces in the mirror nonetheless to distract himself from his thoughts. _ Not bad_. He seldom had troubles finding hookups on shore leave, a fact that filled him with pride. One large hand moved to tug at the hem of his field cap to draw it snug against his forehead, then brushed against the bright red of his captain’s stripe. Ianus made sure his uniform was impeccably crease-free, and expected the same from his crew, a fact most of the younger ensigns found out the hard way. He worked tirelessly for his position, and it showed in the way he watched the world around him, always gauging his surroundings. The years hadn’t been too forgiving with him either. Ianus felt old, despite everyone telling him he looked in his prime. With a sigh, he averted his gaze and trudged back into his cabin, hoping the _ Invictus _ could leave this wretched port earlier than scheduled. 

Being in the proximity of batarians dredged up too many unpleasant memories.

The vidcall alert flashing at him from his monitor on the workstation came at the right moment; he was just about to descend into an unhealthy spiral of traumatic mental reenactment. No matter how many years — and how many lightyears — he put in between himself and that day, the scars remained, and they hurt. With a sigh, he leaned over to check the ID and recognized it in an instant: General Aizen Taranis of the Cipritine Ground Forces. Ianus didn’t mind a talk now that he was stressed out. Rolling his shoulders to relax, he switched on his video feed.

They spent some time discussing the mission, like a boss and his subordinate, with Ianus joking about how usually on shore leave, everyone would race down the landing ramp as soon as the cruiser docked, but this time, the whole crew seemed too scared to venture out of the ship. They reminisced about old times for a few minutes before General Taranis’ face hardened considerably.

“Captain Etherian, the reason I’m calling is to catch up on the flock of new ensigns I assigned you,” he said. “I would love to hear your thoughts on them, and I will expect your report by next week.”

Ianus exhaled. He and the General went back more than twenty years. A hint of dissatisfaction formed in his gizzard. He had _ hoped _ it would be a call to catch up on their friendship, but given that the newest crew members had been with him for a few months now, the call being of an official nature didn’t come as a surprise. 

Not that Ianus was particularly fond of working with hormonal teenagers. Still, under his command, most shaped up to be model servicemen and tended to fare well in their future careers. Ianus wasn’t known to be the most compassionate or amicable of all captains; most of the time, the strictness with which he followed orders was viewed as overly fastidious. He ran such a tight ship the generals started sending unruly ensigns his way so he could metaphorically beat them into submission — a fact he didn’t like but accepted with grace nonetheless, especially seeing that his record for getting everyone to follow his rules was impressive enough.

He reached over to switch on his datapad, giving a few more flicks of his wrist to reach the correct menu. He’d been assigned five new ensigns this season, most of them fresh from Basic, which he distributed among the different areas of operation according to how they’d been assessed during their first weeks of training. They went through the first three without much fuss. Aquinus, Saxen, Anthas. None of them from a particularly influential family, they were good at what they did, especially young Tyres Anthas who was shaping up to be a promising mechanic Ianus would be reluctant to let go of once his training period was through. They all followed his orders, though as always with teenagers, they would at times test the boundaries, but Ianus was used to that, and managed well enough.

“I trust you to lead them well,” Taranis drawled. “You’ve never disappointed.”

Ianus nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Sir. Only doing my duty.”

_You've never disappointed. Hm._ A memory flashed before his eyes, one that kept reappearing no matter what he did to account for the past: he and his squad on the fateful day he’d lost them all to a bunch of batarians because of his bad decision. He’d failed them all, and seeing hope vanish from their eyes one by one had been the worst thing he’d ever experienced. Ianus suppressed the urge to stroke along the scar on his chest, the only physical reminder of his biggest mistake. The memories still haunted him, though he’d managed to get through all of the psychological screenings and follow-up assessments without problems, unable to admit his guilt. He was good at giving the impression of being strong, a fact that was sometimes hard to bear; the longer his trauma festered, the more his throat seized each time he considered speaking of it, even with those close to him. Ianus tried to forget with each mission, each orbital strike, each military action he coordinated, as if retaliation would cure him of the ghosts of his past. Batarians were the source of despair and pain, and Ianus made it his prime objective to avenge his squad without mercy.

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, as if that could dissolve the memories. With a sigh, he flipped over to the next file, lined in red for commendable behaviour. It showed a young female, blue colony markings along her chin and mandibles — a striking contrast to the tawny brown of her plates. Despite it being an official portrait in which everyone was supposed to look as neutral as possible, she managed to convey an aura of pride and excited alertness. The spitting image of her father, down to her markings. A smile tugged on General Taranis’ mandibles when he caught a glimpse of the file.

Ianus tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Acilia is faring very well in the liaison team, as I had anticipated. She has a quick mind, and a great way with words. Both spoken and written. You can be proud of her. She will achieve great deeds, I’m sure of it. I will nominate her for a higher position when her training is over.”

On screen, General Taranis’ face remained impassive — though he did let a satisfied purr escape his throat. Acilia was his only child, and he made sure she shaped up to be everything he’d expected of his daughter to follow in his footsteps. “Glad to hear that. Let me know should she start to break ranks, I’ll get to her when she comes home.”

“Of course.”

All said, Ianus cleared his throat. This was where the unpleasant part of their conversation was going to start. One ensign left to discuss, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“This one, however…”

A blunted talon tapped the datapad in front of him. ‘Leucen Delius,’ the file read, and it contained far more blue notes than on any other file Ianus had flipped through today. Referrals, admonitions, negative records. _ Abysmal. _ The picture on top showed a young male with sandy golden plates. A peculiar coloration that could be called ‘exotic’, though his beauty was voided by his facial expression. He looked as surly as they could, staring at the observer with icy blue eyes filled with as much disdain as could be conveyed from under the rim of his field cap.

“Leucen Delius. A problematic one. Referred by Captain Adessar of the Reserve fleet.”

Ianus leaned back for a moment and closed his eyes. He wasn‘t one to show weakness, but Aizen Taranis had been his mentor ever since Ianus had joined the forces, and as such was one of the few allowed to see him with his guard down. Not even those Ianus called friends would get a chance to see him falter, he was too intent on appearing strong. For once, Ianus decided to skip the formalities. He needed to vent. “Ensign Delius has been difficult from day one,” he admitted. “I put him to training in navigation under Justinian, and he’s doing exceptionally well, but he resists any sort of rule or guidance.”

“Does he take to being detained? That mostly helps.”

“He doesn’t. No matter what I do, whether I encourage or threaten him, he verbally lashes out at me, doesn’t believe in his own abilities. Also…” Ianus hesitated. “He’s gotten himself involved with a Blackwatch Agent who has a bad influence on him. I fear for the worst. I don‘t know what to do with Ensign Delius, he’s slipping from my grasp. I can’t refer him again. One day he’ll face the firing squad.” He sighed, trying in vain to get on top of the frustration. “He’s insolent to the point of insubordination, and has an infernal sassiness to him that makes my blood boil. But inside, he‘s the most insecure chick I have ever met! There is something to this boy. I can‘t bring myself to drop him. You should see him.”

“Have you slept with him?” There was no accusation in General Taranis‘ voice. Ianus had a certain _ reputation_, and while he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, he wasn’t feeling proud right now. An image flashed up in Ianus‘ mind, of Ensign Delius daring him, brazenly flirting. He‘d played prey so marvelously Ianus hadn‘t be able to resist, each teasing word and flash of eyes an affront that had tickled his predatory instincts. And he remembered Leucen‘s high-pitched whines while he‘d crushed him against the wall. 

For a second, he thought about denying the fact.

“Yes, once.” Ianus exhaled. “From what I read in his file, the boy has a habit of offering his body to make up for bad behaviour. It was the reason that prude Adessar sent him to me. I should have been more careful.”

He rubbed his brow with the back of his hand as if to wipe away the weariness. Interesting how a simple business talk about one’s subordinates could turn into something far more personal, going to depths Ianus preferred not touching at usual.

“You know, I never had the wish to have children, Aizen. But Leucen Delius… He needs a parent to guide him. Someone steady. I know he will become a brilliant navigator, he has this natural affinity for programming courses. I don‘t want to see his talent squandered away because he doesn‘t have enough self esteem and believes the whole galaxy is against him. He- hold on.”

A beep from his omni-tool interrupted Ianus. It was Senior Executive Officer Sivan Medina, calling for him on the urgent channel. Never a good sign. Ianus groaned.

“I’m sorry. Important business. General Taranis, I’ll call you back, and get you those reports.”

Motioning for the vidcall to end, Ianus flicked on his omni-tool. XO Medina, usually calm and complacent, had a disturbing look on his face.

“Captain, to the bridge immediately. We have an emergency.”

As far as impressive entrances went, Captain Ianus certainly didn’t skimp on them. He stormed onto the bridge all flashing eyes and determined subvocals, crew members scattering before him, only to find Ensign Tyres Anthas flanked by XOs Medina and Vaenius, shaking all over. His uniform was torn, and his field cap was missing. For all it looked like, he’d been in a fight, and gotten out by a talon’s edge.

Suppressing a snarl, Ianus towered in front of his ensign. “Ensign Anthas! Why aren’t you in your quarters? Speak!”

The young man recoiled under Ianus’ stare, whining pathetically until XO Vaenius grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and shook him a few times. “Breathe, and answer your captain,” she said, her subvocals taking up the soothing tinge usually reserved for calming scared children. Having a worked-up crew member with torn uniform on the bridge was a reason for serious concern, but Satine Vaenius was good at staying calm in the face of unusual situations.

Another whine dislodged itself from the youngster’s throat.

“They got them,” the young man choked out. “Mercenaries, Blue Suns. Taranis and Delius… they snuck out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I hope you're all ready to embark on this journey with the Cap'n! Please let me know your thoughts!


	2. Rescue Mission

A disturbing silence took hold of the bridge. Even the idle hum of the ship going through its subroutines seemed to fade while Ianus stared at the young man cowering in front of him in disbelief. He felt it in his gut, the icy dread spreading out from his gizzard, making the plates at the back of his neck prickle.

_They got them. Oh Spirits. _

“Ensign Anthas. Tyres. Talk to me. What happened? Why were you out?”

“Delius… in the galley. Said he was tired of waiting. Said he wanted to see something exciting. He sneaked out when the second shipment was being delivered. Taranis followed him, tried getting him to turn around.”

An image formed in Ianus’ mind, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Ensign Delius, rebellious as always and bored with his orders, out on some heroic adventure on a dangerous space station. And Ensign Taranis, who was so by the book even Ianus couldn’t believe it at times, so proper and perfect she’d go after him to get him back on the ship. Good fodder for anyone looking for an opportunity to harm the Hierarchy.

“And where do you come in?”

“I-,” Tyres looked down, retracting his head as far into his cowl as he could. “Leu-, I mean, Ensign Delius told me to come with him. I thought it would be fun to kill some time. They let me go… with a message.” His subvocals were merely more than a submissive whimper by now, a steady whine grating on Ianus’ nerves. Despite XO Vaenius’ hand clamping down on his neck, the young man tried baring his throat. His desperate attempt at showing his submission was both satisfying and disturbing to watch.

Ianus rubbed his brow plate in an attempt to make the headache go away. It was a dull pain starting at the front of his skull and extending to the tip of his fringe, brought on by the tension of having to sort out this absolute disaster. Just earlier he’d been bragging to General Taranis how good he was at leading the new ensigns, about what model soldiers and servicemen they’d one day become. He couldn't have cared less about Delius, the little pellet, but losing the General’s daughter wasn’t going to be favourable on his record.

“What is it, Tyres?”

“They want ransom. Now. And they want the captain to go there personally to hand over the credits. Alone, and unarmed.”

A snarl left Ianus’ throat before he could stop it.

“I certainly will not!”

“Captain.”

Satine Vaenius’ bright eyes set on Ianus. She knew him well enough by now to know what pushed his buttons, and putting pressure on him by trying to bait him was a surefire way to get Captain Etherian on your bad side. And yet, she knew now wasn’t the time to be stubborn. Someone had to go get the mindless fledglings, and it had to be the captain, regardless of whether he wanted to or not.

“I suggest you do follow their demands,” she said, carefully modulating her voice as not to sound overly pushy. She was the better strategist at times, but she would never forget her place as Ianus‘ third in command. “Though I suggest you take someone with you, for your own safety.”

Ianus let the words sink in for a few seconds.

“Anybody volunteering to come with me?” he asked. The _ Invictus _ had a contingent of marines with them for planetside missions who had experience with hostage situations, though they weren’t allowed to be deployed before High Command had approved it. Also, deploying armed forces when one’s crew was being held hostage was a dangerous endeavour, especially here, where Council law did not apply. No matter how angry Ianus was with the little ones for acting inconsiderate, he would not put any of his crew in danger. He had promised to watch out for them, to protect them for as long as they served under him.

Nobody answered. Nervous mandible twitches all around him. With a sigh, Ianus looked at his present officers. He was the kind of leader who would never falter in his orders, but he wasn’t going to push anyone to follow him outside.

“I’ll accompany you, given you want an old relic like me along.” Determination shone in Sivan Medina’s eyes when he cleared his throat and stepped forward. The overhead lights on the bridge made the white of his colony markings glow in contrast to the dark brown of his plates. 

Of all the officers of the _ Invictus_, Sivan had served the longest, for a whole sixty-eight years. The lines and cracks in his plates reflected a life full of discipline in the military. Despite his long time serving, he’d politely declined each promotion to captain or further up. Sivan Medina wasn’t a leader. He liked making sure everything ran smoothly, and didn’t mind acting as a stand-in when he had to, but he preferred not being the one responsible for every decision. Maybe that was the reason why he and Ianus went along so well. One could take them as complete opposites; Ianus big, full of the need to do something, always filled with low-key dissatisfaction, Sivan much shorter and of an almost mellow disposition some people said bordered on lethargic. Sivan always knew when to talk and when to stay silent. Stopping Ianus once he was going could be hard; Sivan was the only one who could slow him down should it be necessary.

Ianus exhaled. Not that he was looking forward to any of this, but if there was someone he’d take with him to face batarian mercenaries, it would be Sivan Medina.

“Thank you, Sivan.”

Speed was of utmost importance. While XO Vaenius kept on soothing poor distressed Tyres who was close to a nervous breakdown and dreading the worst punishments possible, Ianus and Sivan prepared themselves for their mission. So this was what fear felt like again, that churning ice in the gut, making his back prickle. Ianus hadn’t been on any planetside missions since a long time, had been reluctant to do so since _ that day. _Funny how every time, it had to do with batarians… 

With measured movements, Ianus strapped his sidearm to his thigh, a heavy pistol he had modified to his personal preferences. Tugging the straps in place felt worse than it usually did, and where usually, the weapon would give him a sense of security, this time it didn’t. Nothing more than a cold, hard lump against his leg. He wouldn’t get any chance to draw his pistol in any case, but even though they had been told to come unarmed, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction to follow their every demand. Letting go of a substantial chunk of the cruiser’s budget to save a couple of irresponsible fledglings wasn’t what Ianus considered under a good day’s work. He’d have them detained for their behaviour as soon as they were back- no matter if it was Taranis, Delius or Anthas, they had all endangered the rest of their crew even though for different reasons.

Ianus reared his head, honing in on Satine Vaenius standing to attention, awaiting her orders. Not that he would ever admit it, but Ianus was glad he had managed to assemble a cast of good officers he could depend on no matter what.

“Executive Officer Vaenius. You are given command of the_ Invictus _ while we are gone. Should we get captured as well, I trust you to follow the rules. Inform High Command, negotiate, and wait for orders. In the worst case, I allow you to dispatch our marine contingent.”

“Yes sir. I will not disappoint you.” If she was shaken, Satine Vaenius’ face didn’t give away anything. Ianus knew the cruiser would be in good hands while they went to retrieve the two wayward ensigns.

They didn’t talk much while they stepped down the landing ramp into the bustle of the docks. Nobody gave them more than a fleeting glance. Even here in the Terminus, where laws were upheld more or less, and each space station was controlled by a different faction - most likely decided in the never-ending feuds between mercenary groups - most people were smart enough not to bother members of the Turian Hierarchy. No matter how disliked they were here. Only a fool would meddle with their business, especially when a cruiser of the _ Invictus’ _ size was concerned. 

Despite the prospect of having to face batarians, Ianus wasn’t feeling insecure right now. Apart from a bunch of krogan dock workers, he was easily the biggest and brawniest of the present crowd. Beside him, Sivan looked comically small and frail.

Ianus threw a look back over his shoulder at the sliver of his ship visible through the panoramic windows, its hull gleaming in light grey and orange. _ Impeccable_. The pride of commandeering such a fine vessel made his mandibles quirk upwards for a second, despite the dire circumstances surrounding him. 

She’d been his ship for a few years now. Ianus still remembered the first time he’d stepped onto the bridge as if it was yesterday, the assembled bridge crew standing proud and at attention, awaiting their first orders, the yellow, green and red stripes on their lapels bright flashes of colour between the austere functionality of its layout. He remembered Sivan Medina too, calm as always, stepping forward to greet him, pledging allegiance to his new captain. Sivan had been on the _ Invictus _ ever since it left its dockyard around the planet of Invictus and he was rumoured to be more faithful to that ship than to the rest of the Hierarchy. Sivan Medina _ was _ the _ Invictus_, in a certain sense. His love for the ship knew no bounds. 

The cruiser had been the first ship of its class, finished shortly before Relay 314 and sent to the front lines as its first big mission, a large cruiser capable of performing planetside landings. Many of the newer ships weren’t built to land anymore. Some people called the _ Invictus _ a relic, given there were newer and faster cruisers being built, but Ianus was proud of his ship nonetheless and made sure it was kept in tip-top shape. He was born on Invictus colony too, a coincidence that made most people frown when they heard it. 

Ianus carried the markings of Aelia settlement proudly; three diagonal, translucent black stripes over his face, almost invisible against the dark reddish brown of his plates in the overhead lights. To Ianus, those three stripes were the mark of a peculiar brand of people, those who would never give up, who would withstand whatever the environment would throw at them. His ancestors had clawed the settlement out of Invictus’ deep jungles, made a living where nobody else would even think about going. Ianus saw himself as someone carrying on the proud tradition of the colony: Three stripes — Strength, perseverance, honour.

At his side, Sivan stopped to salute in the direction of his ship, each motion precise, conveying as much dignity as it could. Solemn pride shone on his weathered face. Ianus found himself mirroring the action, his right hand lifting to tap his chest before saluting the stars. He could count on his ship and his crew to have their backs, no matter what happened. It was the only thing that made the thought of having to get out into this total headache of a situation at least a bit bearable. 

XO Vaenius had been instructed to send an urgent message to High Command to request assistance if they weren’t to return after a certain amount of time. The _ Invictus _ did have a contingent of marines on board, but there were certain rules and guidelines in action that would make sure dispatching them on this kind of mission wasn’t acceptable unless under extreme circumstances. First and foremost, they had to follow the chain of command. XO Vaenius had also been connected on a subchannel to their omni-tools, a hasty change made by one from the tech team. She had a feed of their vitals and audio channels, and would be able to pick up on anything should things go awry. While she had taken her orders with professional nonchalance and her familiar curt ways, Ianus knew her well enough to imagine her sitting in her cabin, ramrod straight at her workstation.

It wasn‘t far from the docking bays to the freight docks, a few minutes of brisk walking at most. And yet, only one step into the wrong side street could mean a completely different environment. The ensigns must have walked right into the waiting arms of the mercenaries while they‘d bickered, not looking where they were going. Perfect prey for mercs looking for some quick money to make. 

The buildings here were more derelict than at the passenger docks, though that was no wonder; money lay in traffic, and quick layovers. Maybe one time, this place had been bustling, and full of busy work, but as with so many stations that didn‘t lie on strategic points or major trade routes, this one had started falling into oblivion. Ianus hadn‘t bothered asking what the Blackwatch agents‘ business here was. He didn‘t care either.

Ianus and Sivan proceeded straight on, without looking left or right, the only movement of their eyes to check their omni-tools to make sure they weren’t getting lost. The bustle and lively activity of the port had slowed to a trickle of people, most of them eyeing them warily from out of rust-speckled doorways. For a second, Ianus regretted not changing into civvies for this mission. And yet, maybe it was better this way, with their uniforms working as a sort of armour in itself. Nobody meddled with the Hierarchy. Ianus caught himself repeating the sentence in his head, an attempt to calm himself down.

“Have you ever partaken in a hostage exchange?” Though quiet, Sivan‘s voice echoed in the empty hall. Ianus tilted his head. “No. You?”

“Only once.” Sivan‘s gaze was pointed straight forward while they walked on. “Back in the day. Not an enjoyable memory.” Only for a second, he peeked at Ianus. “Keep calm and don‘t try to anger them, lad. Our mission is to get the fledglings out, no matter if their demands increase. We will pay. The lives of our crew are our prime directive.”

“Thank you, I’ll follow that suggestion.” Ianus wasn‘t one to like to be lectured, but Sivan had a special status in the crew. He was also the only one who would ever be allowed to address the captain as ‘lad’.

They fell silent for the rest of the way. A large door of corrugated iron loomed before them. Ianus checked his omni-tool and exhaled.

“There we are,” he said to no one in particular. Beside him, Sivan gave a comforting purr, all considerate father. Despite the fact that Ianus always felt compelled to be the strong and brave one, besides Sivan, he allowed himself some vulnerability. They’d survived many missions together already, one more would surely go as well.

The door slid aside with a hiss and a groan of overstrained metal, opening onto an identical converted factory hall. Dust particles danced in the air, barely illuminated by a row of neon lights far up in the rafters. It was a bleak, crumbling mess of a building with free standing beams, a remnant from when this station had seen better times, before interplanetary traffic had rerouted, following new trends and changing demands.

Ianus‘ footsteps faded away in the expanse of room. Without a doubt, this had once been a manufacturing plant, though it now sat long abandoned and derelict. As so often, new inhabitants creeped in, claiming the ruin as their own, building a nest for their sinister affairs. Mercenary groups thrived in the fringes of civilized space, in the twilight of failing business, slipping from the grasp of Council Space.

Ianus honed in on the group of figures standing at the other side of the room. Acilia and Leucen stood with their hands bound in the middle, two frightened chicks with six mercenaries around them. Two turians, both barefaced, one human, three batarians. Ianus felt a growl build in his throat, and suppressed the urge instead. Wouldn‘t do to exacerbate the situation by acting hostile, though all of his being screamed at him to grab his sidearm and put a nice bullet between the leader‘s eyes.

“We told you to come alone and unarmed.” The words carried through the air, made the specks of dust tumble.

“I apologize,” Ianus called back, moving to remove the credit chit from his hip bag. “I did not intend to trouble you. Here‘s what you asked for.”

Not that Ianus had any idea how he was supposed to act in this kind of situation. He’d never had to deal with tactics of this kind. Like all turians, he had started Basic at age fifteen, assessed for a career course after a few weeks of training. Diplomacy had not been it. He had shown great physical strength and mental steadfastness, which had brought him a first assignment in the ground forces as a member of a task force dealing with interception and surprise attacks. Only after he’d been promoted to Sergeant and after the disastrous mission, they’d offered him a chance at a new appointment in the Navy. Ever since, Ianus had given it his best, had worked hard to climb the ranks, until he’d been promoted to captain. This was what counted for him, rehabilitating himself in the eyes of his superiors he had disappointed. When he’d been given the rank of Captain, Ianus had finally allowed himself to relax.

Beside him, Sivan had switched his subvocals to a calm, steady thrum, the equivalent of squeezing someone‘s hand to calm them down. “Steady, Ianus,” he murmured, and while Ianus would never admit it to anyone, he was glad Sivan was here to act as his voice of reason. At times, Ianus had a habit of overshooting since he was so unable to accept help or suggestions from anyone, but for some reason, Sivan Medina had, by virtue of his fatherly demeanor, taken him under his wing.

Ianus moved as if in slow motion, reaching for the chit, presenting it with both arms outstretched, as far away from his gun as possible. Better not appear threatening, though every bit of his being was screaming at him to do something instead of groveling at some dirty batarian’s feet. His sidearm felt heavy against his thigh. Hands palm upwards, he took three steps into the middle of the hall, depositing the chit on the floor. Dust billowed when the small square of plastic hit the concrete.

Eyes never leaving the two ensigns quivering in between their captors, Ianus backed away until he felt the sleeve of his uniform jacket brush Sivan’s.

“It’s all there,” he called over, “the money is yours, so please hand over the two youngsters. I’m not out for trouble with you.”

Meanwhile, one of the mercenaries, a lanky female human, had gone to retrieve the chit lying forlorn amidst the settling dust. She brought it back to her leader, who scanned it quickly with his omni-tool. His facial features hardened.

“That is a good sum of money, captain,” he said, pocketing the chit. “But now that you’re here I have half a mind of keeping you all. We don’t take kindly to Hierarchy ships out in the Terminus, and you should know that.”

Anger rose inside of Ianus, subvocals switching without his volition to a more aggressive melody that the turian mercenaries certainly understood. Both of them made sure to straighten their stances, holding their rifles in a slightly more threatening angle.

“Steady, Ianus,” Sivan murmured again. His hand rose to brush against Ianus’ to ground him. Despite his agitation, Ianus understood the gesture, and exhaled a deep breath.

“If it’s money you want, I can get you more,” Ianus called back, suppressing the quiver in his voice as well as he could. He fervently wished he’d had more training with hostage situations. Serving on a cruiser, always observing things from far away, that was completely different. He’d relied on his liaison team and other specialists to deal with kidnappers and other fools.

“I do not mind the credits, but I do believe you all are of bigger value.” The batarian jerked his chin towards them, and from the corners of his eyes, Ianus noticed movement in the rafters. Snipers. He should have been more careful.

„You will not! I have the whole turian Hierarchy with me. If anything happens to me or my crew, you will regret it!”

“Big words for a captain and an old man. You’re outnumbered, and you look like you‘d bring me more money than these two pups.”

“I will not negotiate with you filth! You got your money. Release my crew, now.”

Ianus lifted his hand, the interface of his omni-tool glowing its dark orange, ready to take commands. This wasn’t going according to plan. He felt as if he was on unstable grounds, creaking under his weight, where one wrong step could mean the end. In his eyes, there was only one possibility to get them all out now, and that was intimidation. Everyone knew how well the turians worked, how relentless they would act against their enemies. It was a bluff, and their last chance.

The mercenaries had taken up a more alert stance, and the ones holding Acilia and Leucen wrenched the fledglings onto their knees, undoubtedly in anticipation of them escaping should the argument get more heated. The air buzzed with energy, metallic and foreboding. It made Ianus’ fringe spikes tingle, despite his field cap. An unnerving feeling.

“I have to push one button, and my marines will tear down this place,” Ianus snarled. “I‘m not afraid of you.”

“Neither am I. I know your type. Talks big, hides behind their precious Hierarchy. Deploy as many of your marines as you want. We are prepared for it.”

With that, he lifted one hand, motioning for one of the mercenaries standing to the side that Ianus hadn’t noticed before. A small salarian, hurried-looking. His big black eyes glowed orange at the reflection of his screen while he powered up his own omni-tool. Fingers flitted over the interface, before he looked back up with a smirk. A tech, and a damn good one at that.

Dread took hold of Ianus when he saw that nonchalant expression. As if forced by an external compulsion, his eyes descended to the interface with its flashing cursor, awaiting his order. An error message had popped up, blinking at him as if trying to taunt him. Before Ianus’ vision, another bloomed, then another, taking up speed until all he could see on his screen were flashes of blue and orange, a steady cascade of notices rendering the interface useless. A virus. Beside him, Sivan inhaled in a hiss. He’d noticed, too.

“I suggest you drop your weapons.” The mercenary leader’s impassive voice reached Ianus as if through fog, far and indistinct, yet more painful than he would have ever expected. 

That was it. 

Mandibles clamped close to his face, Ianus slid his pistol to the side. He saw it go, the dark, custom-coated barrel flashing once in the light, like a farewell. He knew he wasn’t going to see it again, should have known to leave his favourite weapon behind…

Remorse bubbling in his gizzard, Ianus raised his arms above his head. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew his omni-tool was still flashing error messages at him, an endless stream eroding the bit of hope he’d clung on to. There was only one word for the ball of dread slowly churning in his gut while he watched the mercenaries approach, and it was called memories.


	3. Captivity

They were locked into a small side room of the same warehouse they had come to for the hostage exchange, a bleak, crumbling mess of a room, with free standing beams. Clearly, the mercs had not planned on keeping anyone hostage here. They were barely more than a chance opportunity at some fast credits, Ianus realized with a pang of bitterness.

The door closed with a unapologetic click. Behind him, Leucen whined, a pathetic little sound grating on Ianus’ patience. Lights were dim, but enough to keep the room illuminated so they could orientate themselves.

The fledglings were still unable to quench the distress from their subvocals, with the exception of Acilia. She openly expressed how mortified she felt for sneaking out and disappointing both her captain and her father. Meanwhile, Leucen’s had more of a defiant tone. He knew he had done wrong, but wouldn’t admit it — so typical of him. Sivan stayed with them, silent except for a paternal purr Ianus knew he attempted to calm the young ones down with. No matter what Leucen did, Sivan always had kind words for him, a fact that both angered and surprised Ianus.

Trying in vain to disregard the keening behind him, Ianus oriented himself as well as he could through the steady throbbing from his jaw and his left lid, swollen shut. They managed to sock him straight in the eye when he lunged at one of the mercenaries who tried shackling him, though he didn’t remember the act itself. Whether he had been too blind with rage to notice, or if they had continued swinging at him while he’d been out — it didn’t matter anymore. He’d gained consciousness after a few seconds, right in time to see Sivan pushed down to the floor, where he flopped like a fish out of water.

Bitterness bubbled in Ianus’ gut while he took in their surroundings. The room looked like one of those temporary shelters where people could rest for a few hours in between assignments, a typical mercenary hangout meant for short term occupation. Somewhere to their right stood a small sink with a leaking faucet and an alcove with a toilet. Ianus gave it a cursory glance. It wasn’t made for turians but it would do — most species weren’t that different from one another. He’d done with much less and worse, during missions. The communal sanitary installations on the cruiser didn‘t allow for personal feelings of shame or random ideas of modesty either. To his left sat two beds, not more than naked metal frames with flat foam mattresses and a pile of blankets to one side. At least they would be able to warm up a little if they huddled together. Though Ianus was agitated enough to feel heated, the temperature in the room was uncomfortably cool.

“Well then, we’ll wait for Satine to get us out,” Sivan simply said before sitting down on one of the beds which gave a protesting groan. Ianus didn’t know why, but that one sentence seemed to be the starting signal for the ensigns to give an outlet to their own frustration.

“This is your fault!” Acilia hissed in Leucen’s direction. “Why can’t you follow orders?”

“You didn’t have to come after me, model soldier! Did your precious dad train you to peck into stuff that doesn’t concern you?”

“Leave my father out of this! Don’t dare you slander his name!”

“Ha, _ you _ keep on blabbing about him as if he was the Primarch of Palaven!”

“You’re just jealous, you pellet!”

Ianus listened to their debate, unable to keep the throbbing behind his temples at bay. His hands clenched and unclenched once.

“Stop it, both of you!” he growled without looking back at them, his voice like a gunshot between the naked walls. “If we want to get out of this, we need to stick together. But first-” He turned around, nailing his steely grey gaze on the two youngsters who froze mid-sentence when they felt him hone in on them, “-you will both sit down. Shut your mouths unless I allow you to speak. And tell me how exactly you got us into this mess.”

They sank onto the second bed side by side, eyes wide and mandibles clamped close to their faces. As Ianus had hoped, they didn’t make another sound, except for their subvocals that had taken up a submissive tinge.

“Taranis, you first.”

“He started,” Acilia piped up, shooting only the most cursive glance at Leucen before looking back down at her hands clasped over the dust-speckled fatigues. “I… tried persuading him back to the ship. Ensign Anthas, too.” All that came from Leucen was a testy little growl, but he didn’t speak, as Ianus had ordered.

“I acted in the best intentions for the crew,” Acilia continued, “I wanted to get them back.” Her shoulders were hunched, and if it weren’t for her sheer determination of appearing alert and strong, Ianus believed she would have surely given in to despair.

“I know, Ensign Taranis. I appreciate the effort. What about you?” Ianus turned to Leucen who had buried his face behind his knees tucked up.

“Ensign Delius, why did you sneak out? You had orders to stay on board. Persuading other crew members to venture out into hostile territories is insubordination of the most serious kind.”

“I was bored,” Leucen grumbled. Ianus’ head kept on throbbing. He’d had more than one such dispute with Leucen before, and each question had been countered with either silence, an insult or another such inappropriate answer. For some reason, the youngster had taken on the belief that giving stupid answers wouldn’t make the situation worse, though the way it seemed right now, they were as deep in as they only could.

In between his simmering dissatisfaction, Ianus felt it seethe, the angry helplessness that had taken hold of him ever since Ensign Anthas had appeared on his bridge stammering his excuses. For a brief moment, Ianus wondered how his crew back on the _ Invictus _ fared. He’d ordered XO Vaenius to lock Tyres up in the holding cells until they came back. Detaining crew members wasn’t what Ianus usually did unless it was necessary, and while he was adamant about everyone following his command, he was also unwilling to let go of promising new ensigns. A night in the cells put everyone back on track, usually. He should have given Satine clear instructions on what to do. _ Foolish_. But then, by virtue of his own hubris, he would have never thought the situation would escalate in this manner.

With a suppressed growl, Ianus honed back in on Leucen sitting on the bed, unmoving.

“You had precise orders, Ensign Delius, and you chose to disregard them. You dragged your crew members into a dangerous situation. I hope you are aware this will have consequences when we’re back on the _ Invictus_. I don’t take insubordination easy.”

Ianus wasn’t surprised not to get any reaction back. He was too tired to care right now, so all he did was to give a growl before he retreated to the opposite wall where he busied himself with checking the walls for anything they could use to their advantage: spare bits that could be turned into weapons, hidden com panels, anything. When the search proved futile- as he had expected- Ianus turned towards the measly rest of his crew.

Interesting how each of them took their situation differently. Ianus observed them from where he was leaning against the wall, the erratic dripping from the faucet a steady grating on his nerves.

Sivan was still sitting on one of the beds, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed; as if he‘d accepted his destiny. Most likely he was living in the flashback of his time being captured on Shanxi, finding comfort in the memory of the moment the incident had ended and he’d been freed. Leucen occupied the other bed, though in contrast to Sivan who looked relaxed enough, Leucen’s eyes burned with defiance, and he didn‘t even make an effort of quenching the anger and distress from his subvocals. Ianus knew exactly what was going on inside of the young man‘s head. Leucen was angry at the universe.

On the other side were Ianus and Acilia who found themselves unable to sit or relax. Acilia was pacing the room, from the door to the opposite wall and back, the steady tap of her boots almost hypnotic, while she fiddled in vain with her omni-tool — as if the software was going to behave if she only tried often enough. As a member of the liaison team, Acilia was relying heavily on that small screen, and having her ability to write taken from her was surely hard to swallow. The interface flickered under her increasingly hectic touch, unable to process her commands. Subconsciously, Ianus found himself reacting to her nervousness, reflected in the way his fingers smoothed down the creases on his captain‘s uniform, again and again. The stripe was still there, bright red, marking him as captain. It was a small kind of reassurance.

“Captain, why isn’t anyone coming?” Acilia asked into the dusty air when she crossed his path for the umpteenth time. Ianus exhaled, facing her. He had been posing himself the same question, had grown increasingly agitated at not knowing what time it was, and where he was. The restlessness kept boiling in his gut. Ianus was lost and terrified, but in front of his crew, he had to give the effort and appear confident. He couldn’t admit to them that he wasn’t sure — The captain always was.

“They are,” he answered in the end, as softly as he could. “Give them time. Have faith in XO Vaenius. The Hierarchy doesn’t abandon its members. They’ll get us out.”

Despite his efforts, Ianus wasn’t completely able to mask the doubt from his subvocals. If he had to be honest with himself, he didn’t know how fast the _ Invictus _ could react to their disappearance since they had to answer to High Command first. He only hoped the mercenaries would keep them here and not move them. With their omnis rendered useless, it would be impossible tracing them across Terminus space and Ianus wasn’t inclined to ponder that possibility. The most pressing problem right now was going to be whether they’d be fed or not. As a predatory species with almost no fat tissue and specialized in processing multiple small meals in a day, turians didn’t take well to being detained for a prolonged time without food.

Suppressing the snarl forming in his throat, Ianus addressed his crew.

“Let’s organize the available space while we wait for XO Vaenius to get us out,” he said. The suggestion was taken with a nod from Sivan and a salute from Acilia who seemed overjoyed to have at least an illusion of order restored. Leucen didn‘t react.

“Basic hygiene and water are covered,” Ianus continued. “Pellets are to be collected in one corner. Keep count of them, I want to keep an eye on your health. Taranis and Delius, you share this bed-” he gestured to the one Leucen was sitting on, trying to ignore the venomous glance Acilia shot her crewmate, “- and Medina takes this one. You need more protection than I do. I‘ll sleep here on the floor, closest to the door. A blanket will do.”

“We can share too,” Sivan interjected, but Ianus cut him short.

“No back talk. You‘re the oldest and need your strength. And you two,” he turned towards Acilia and Leucen who had started a sort of subvocal battle, trying to top each other‘s hostility, “will behave like proper members of the Hierarchy and follow my orders. My decision is final, understood?”

“Yes captain!” Acilia said, ripping off another smart salute, perfectly executed, undoubtedly in an attempt of pissing off Leucen. She didn’t have much to trump him, so she gave it her all staying on the captain’s good side. Leucen’s eyes flashed, but he didn‘t reply.


	4. A Glimmer of Hope

Later that night, Ianus managed to fall into an uneasy slumber, waking each time a sound from the corridor reached him. He’d never been one to sleep deeply and he was usually awake before the rest of the crew. Some ensigns spoke about him in hushed voices, saying the captain only needed as much sleep as a salarian, which was, of course, an exaggeration. Ianus was merely good at operating on multiple short naps sprinkled in between his duty hours. Their whispers were barely more than a dream now, an echo from a more carefree past.

Ianus was in pain. His jaw injury had subsided to a steady throb he could ignore, but his eye kept pulsing in rhythm with the heartbeat in his head. Unpleasant. He hadn’t felt this weak since his last planetside mission, and even then, the tension of prolonged alertness and physical strain hadn’t been the same as now. This was similar to overexerting oneself at the gym, only thousandfold, and accompanied by that bitter ball of unease churning inside his chest that had by now made itself his permanent partner.

A rustle behind him made Ianus turn. The floor was hard, and for sure not the best place a turian could sleep on, but he stood with his decision to give the beds to the others. With a groan, he rolled around before fixing his one good eye on Leucen, who was standing in front of him a little forlorn.

“Captain Etherian? I… I have a proposal,” the young man murmured, clearly trying not to create too much fuss and waking the others. “We have one chance of alerting someone.”

Ianus gave a testy hiss while he pushed himself onto his elbows. His muscles twitched, a deep, numbing fatigue interspersed with the steady pull of strained physiology. He felt as if he had been crushed between two transport crates after a bumpy shuttle landing.

“I’m not inclined to listen to your suggestion,” he growled back, but when Leucen deflated even more than he already had and looked at him with hurt, Ianus found a miserable little speck of sympathy inside.

“Alright, ensign. Tell me.”

Leucen looked like a man stepping in front of the firing squad, the way he slunk closer. He crouched down beside his captain before switching on his omni-tool. The interface was scrambled as the others were, all functions off, error messages flickering over the screen at certain intervals like some sort of morbid aurora, taunting them. It took Leucen a few tries before he managed to access the message interface by timing his swipes and taps. Somewhere below the flickering menu, a blue dot was pulsing.

One comm channel was open, unaffected by the virus. And it wasn’t an official one.

Ianus’ hand shot out to grab Leucen’s wrist while he stared at the dot in disbelief. Like a heartbeat, it winked in and out of existence, without missing a stroke.

A chance of escape.

A lifeline.

_An unauthorized modification._

Despite the sheer rush of hope and exhilaration running through him, Ianus kept his voice carefully modulated as not to show too much emotion.

“Ensign Delius. What is this?”

“A private comm channel.”

“Why do you have a backdoor channel on your omni-tool?”

Nothing.

Anger bubbled in Ianus’ gut, threatened to extinguish the faint glimmer of hope. He had a suspicion who could be one to persuade Leucen to have his omni-tool reconfigured. There was only one person that came to Ianus‘ mind, someone he knew had managed to ensnare Leucen in his web of lies and promises. An image flashed before his mind’s eye, of a tall, shadowy figure, two blue eyes twinkling with cold fire. A killer in the Primarch’s name. Dread catching hold on his heart, Ianus squeezed Leucen’s arm.

“Ensign Delius! Answer your captain!”

Leucen’s mandibles quivered while he wound himself under Ianus’ stare. Of course the young man knew he wasn’t allowed to modify his equipment. The Hierarchy supplied their employees with means of transport, tech, clothes, medical goods. They got shelter, food, full medical services. But in return, people were required to honour the mutuality by playing their part and keeping their gear in pristine condition. Failure to comply would lead to quite the admonition — or in the worst case, dishonourable discharge. Ianus stared at Leucen, his heart growing heavy at the notion that each time Leucen said something, he only enmeshed himself more deeply in the web of problems he’d brought upon himself. When Leucen finally spoke, his voice was faint, as if it came from far away.

“It’s from Agent Imperious of the Blackwatch.”

There Leucen went dropping the bomb Ianus had expected and dreaded. Agent Imperious. Ianus squeezed his eyelids shut for a second, tried extinguishing the picture from his mind, before his unforgiving stare honed back in on Leucen.

“Why, Ensign Delius,” he pressed out between clenched teeth, “why is it that every time you opened your mouth since we‘ve been here you managed to add insult after insult to the uniform you‘re wearing? Right under my nose, too!”

“I…” Leucen began, before staring back down at the floor between them.

It had taken Ianus a few months to get behind Leucen’s mask, to realize that all those big-mouthed mannerisms and the snappy answers and bristly behaviour was not who Leucen really was. Deep inside was a young man so full of insecurities and self-loathing Ianus had never seen before. For him, who always had a solid self-esteem, it was almost unfathomable how others could cripple themselves in this way. But Leucen saw everything, and everyone, as an enemy, and Ianus felt both helpless and angry at not knowing how to deal with it.

To hell with formalities. They were doomed anyway. Ianus’ resolve and steadfastness crumbled before Leucen’s admission. Hope gave way to a different kind of emotion; just as fickle yet just as strong.

“You’re a disgrace to your uniform,” he growled. “Why can’t you follow orders like everyone else, Leucen?”

For the first time tonight, Leucen looked up. His eyes blazed, full of hurt. “Because I’ll never be good like the others,” he spat. “My record is abysmal! What is there for me in my life? I’m set in a path I cannot get out of. Every day the same grind, the same oppressive rules, the mindless following of orders. The only thing keeping me sane is Xe- … Agent Imperious. He gives me hope, and that’s more than you, or anyone, could ever give me.”

The young man kept pulling on his trapped wrist, each tug more frantic while Ianus pondered his answer. The captain’s grip was relentless. Leucen was no challenge, no matter how much weight he put behind his actions.

“You know I should have you shot for that kind of insubordinate answer,” Ianus growled in the end. It was more of a statement than a question. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Given the situation, Ianus knew he should be more understanding, or at least try to keep the flock together, as was his duty as their captain. But he was too close to teetering on the edge of despair to care anymore. A sort of leaden fatigue had taken hold of his limbs. Agent Imperious was a dangerous man, one Ianus hated for the sheer insolence of trying to take his ensign from him, with his sweet promises of adventure, who had persuaded him to get his equipment modified, and possibly to leave the ship in search for, what, excitement? Adventures? Such selfishness! One thing was sure — Imperious wasn’t the kind of man Ianus trusted to ask for help, no matter what situation he found himself in.

A weird sound dislodged itself from Leucen’s throat, halfway between a sob and a growl. Dust billowed as he stopped struggling and sat back down with a frustrated huff. His eyes shone in the dim light, and while Ianus knew how bright and full of life they could sparkle when Leucen was in one of his rare good moods, right now feeling that stare on himself was too hard to handle. Taking a deep inhale to calm himself, Ianus stared back in an attempt of assessing his dominance, then released his grip. Leucen retracted the hand with a low snarl, but he didn’t answer.

“Leucen. I will not grovel in front of Agent Imperious for help. The _Invictus_ will be here any moment. XO Vaenius knows what to do. Go now.”

From the corner of his eye, Ianus noticed Acilia and Sivan sitting up in their beds, both awakened by the increasingly heated discussion. They looked at him, then each other, with confusion, and Acilia gave a startled yelp when Leucen threw himself down on the bed, jostling her. Ianus had expected him to pout as he always did when he was being told off, but instead, the young man looked back once more and bared his teeth, a clear sign of provocation. It was what thoughtless youngsters did when emotions whipped up, while challenging others in bars.

“Do what you want,” Leucen growled. “You’re destroying our only chance of escape. And just so you know; Agent Imperious was skilled enough to sneak onto your precious Hierarchy cruiser to meet me.”

Fatigue and pain were forgotten as anger bloomed red in front of Ianus’ vision. He bared his teeth in return, an automatic action. Only thanks to Acilia’s reflexes, nothing worse happened. A distressed squeak left her mouth when she realized what her captain was about to do. The fear of being called insubordinate was clearly written in her face, but she threw herself against Ianus with determination when he lunged at Leucen nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yes, the Cap'n sometimes makes real stupid decisions.


	5. The Plan

Ianus lost track of time by the time he awoke. His injured eye still throbbed. As was his habit, he rolled over to check his omnitool for news right after waking only to be greeted by the now familiar scrambled interface, flickering its error messages at him. The last day’s events rose from his subconscious, made him growl low in his throat. The failed hostage freeing, Leucen‘s offer, and the weight of both Sivan and Acilia on him, holding him back, while Leucen cowered in the corner with his teeth bared like a scared animal. 

_ Oh spirits. _

The rest of his crew was still sleeping, or tried to appear as if they were. Ianus envied them for their ability to rest. Cursing his stiff limbs, Ianus trudged over to the sink and lapped at the stale tasting water streaming from the faucet. A small solace. His gizzard had been cramping up ever since he’d been lying awake in the darkness, listening to the steady breaths and the subvocal melody of slumber of his crew, while at the same time trying in vain to suppress his own racing mind. 

They had to try and escape today, seeing as nobody had yet attempted to free them. The thought bothered him, and Ianus caught himself making up reasons for why XO Vaenius hadn’t come, why the Hierarchy hadn’t intervened yet to get them out. 

They were putting together a rescue team. 

They were already infiltrating the place. 

They were negotiating terms. 

Something. _ Anything_.

His feet heavy, Ianus padded over to where Sivan lay with his front facing the wall.

“Sivan, we need to discuss a plan,” Ianus whispered, gently scratching his friend’s upper arm until he stirred and stretched himself with a pained groan. The last day’s turmoil hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone, and Sivan was undoubtedly feeling his age.

“Something is keeping the _ Invictus _ from freeing us, we need to act.” 

Ianus straightened himself, waiting patiently until Sivan had rolled around, under protest from his bed. 

Keeping his voice down as not to wake the little ones, Ianus explained his idea to Sivan who kept his eyes steady on his captain, only answering with encouraging subvocal hums from time to time. Given that Ianus hadn’t thought it through that thoroughly yet, the explanations didn’t take lots of time, but the basics weren’t going to change in any case. They would have to wait until one of the guards came to check on them, maybe bring them something to eat. From the pattern of footsteps Ianus heard outside their cell, the mercenaries patrolled in teams of two, and the whole group wasn’t too large. This was a small station after all. Ten or fifteen at most. Four trained members of the Hierarchy, no matter how scared, would be able to tackle them. Ianus’ eye for detail was good enough, and he knew Acilia was quick at orienting herself. She undoubtedly knew where they were inside this maze of a warehouse, and she’d be able to lead them out even at a run. If only he had his pistol… 

Their lack of weaponry was a problem, though if they managed to overwhelm the morning team, they’d have at least two rifles at their disposal. While not built for turians, batarian weapons could be handled by those with slimmer hands, so he’d have Acilia and Sivan take on the guns. Both were slender in build and good shots. Again, Ianus regretted bringing his pistol to the hostage exchange. Who knew where his favourite weapon was now- they’d taken it from him, and by now it was most likely strapped to some filthy batarian’s thigh.

A whimper behind them made Ianus look up. Acilia straightened herself from where she’d been wedged between Leucen and the wall. She looked around, and her mandibles drooped when she realized where she was. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, set on Ianus.

“Wake Delius, we have a meeting,” he said to her, turning back to Sivan while Acilia prodded Leucen awake. It took her three attempts to get him to stir. The young man needed more sleep than any teenage turian Ianus had ever met. On the cruiser it annoyed Ianus every time Leucen overslept for his shifts, but now he envied him for the ability of sleeping through everything. It beat lying awake mulling over the same thoughts of regret in his head in any case. 

Rehashing their plan, Ianus assigned everyone a role. Sivan and Acilia took it with a confident nod, Leucen with the tiniest bob of his head. They’d wait for the morning team to check on them. Ianus would tackle the first one, Acilia would disarm them before reinforcements could arrive, while Sivan and Leucen acted as backup should anything happen. Then it was a simple case of running. Acilia confirmed that she knew the way out and excused herself to a corner so she could visualize the route they had to take to get back to the docking bays. 

If Ianus had to be honest, it wasn’t much of a plan. He had his doubts whether it was going to work at all, but as long as they were left not knowing what the _ Invictus _ was up to, it had to do. Their only hope was that they were worth more alive than dead, and that maybe the mercenaries had already made contact with slavers. Not damaging the goods was hopefully enough reason not to open fire on them.

It didn’t take long before they heard the telltale footsteps echoing through the hallway. Ianus gave his sign, pointing out to the rest of the flock where they were supposed to stand. The buzz of nervous subvocals all around him prickled in his chest, a cacophony of emotions running wild. Ianus clenched and unclenched his hands in an effort to calm down. Having only one eye to gauge distances was irritating. Thoughts raced in his head, making it hard for him to concentrate on what lay before them.

The door opened, a click and hiss, unbearably loud while they held their breaths.

Now or never.

Ianus’ hands shot out and grabbed the unsuspecting guard from his hiding place beside the door. He went straight for her throat. No hesitation. Leucen’s startled squeak pierced the air. The human went down with a strangled gurgle, overwhelmed by Ianus’ sheer bulk. The crunch when he twisted her neck was sickening — even Sivan’s mandibles twitched in discomfort at witnessing the sound.

Ianus’ heart was beating in his ears. Nausea washed over him, spreading upwards from his gizzard. Though he’d been in enough close combat missions when he’d been younger, he wasn’t used to hand-to-hand combat anymore. The sparring and wrestling matches on the ship couldn’t compare. Ianus knew how to incapacitate, how to kill if he had to. _ In theory. _ He’d gone through the movements an uncountable amount of times, until they became automated. But the ease with which he’d managed to break her neck sickened him nonetheless.

It only took Acilia a second to dive for the dropped rifle, snatching it up and aiming at the second guard who skulked in the corridor. Caught by surprise, the batarian didn’t have time to cock his own weapon before he was hit in the chest by two rapid bursts of fire. Red bloomed on his tunic as he was thrown against the opposite wall. 

“Go, go!” Ianus barked. “Taranis first!” Acilia squeaked a confirmation, dashing out and then left, as if lead by an internalized map. The crew broke into a run without needing another order.

Warning shots in the corridor made Ianus duck his head in reflex. Behind him, Sivan turned around long enough to fire back, scattering their pursuers. One more corner, a staircase. Walls, pipes, doors. All blurred while they ran. Ianus’ one eye strained to keep up. Acilia barreled through a door, and then, they were out in the streets, and running, narrowly evading ongoing passers-by, their own breath loud as thunder in their ears. The ensigns were propelled by pure fright, racing ahead, Leucen blindly following Acilia. Sivan had fallen behind.

All they needed to see was that flash of grey and orange, see something familiar, the promise of security. Not far now. Suppressing his fatigue, Ianus thought about his ship. They’d dash to the airlock, shout to the marines standing guard. Their uniforms, albeit dirty and torn, would protect them. And everything would be all right. Almost, Ianus could smell the hint of ozone that permeated the corridors whenever the ship was in flight, the slightly stale air processed by the aging ventilation system. It didn’t matter. The _ Invictus _ was home, and they were going to be back soon, to the safety of their cabins, behind the sturdy hull and weaponry. 

One more turn. The sound of his blood rushing in his ears, Ianus rounded the corner only to crash into Acilia and Leucen standing rooted to the spot. Ianus picked up their subvocals, a whimper of disbelief, first, before his brain processed what his eye was telling him. Behind the glass separating them from the docking bay lay a ship of dark metal, matte and sombre. Not the sleek lines they’d expected, the ray of light they’d hoped for. 

The _ Invictus _ was gone.

Ianus didn’t have it in him to resist anymore. He stood, panting, staring at that ship, that spirits-forsaken ship behind the window, that should have been his. His cruiser. His cruiser, the THS _ Invictus_. 

They had gone. 

When guns clicked behind them, he hung his head in defeat.

Hands grabbed his wrists, shackled him. Beside him, Acilia dropped the rifle, ragged squeaks breaking from her mouth at realizing everything they’d done was in vain. Leucen and Sivan stood silent.

Nobody spoke while they were marched back at gunpoint. Not even a whisper from the crowd parting before them. Ianus watched them from the corners of his eyes, all the silent bystanders, their indistinct expressions. Inside, anger boiled, an ugly, hot vortex calling everyone out for their conspiracy to injustice. Their faces all showed the same kind of impassive hopefulness, the unspoken ‘better them than me’. Ianus knew he should have felt at least a little bit of compassion towards them. Living on a station at the mercy of criminal bands was hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to it.

When they’d returned to the warehouse, the mercenary leader ordered them to stand in line.

“You’re way more trouble than I’d expected,” he said as he took his place in front of them, similar to how Ianus would stand at the morning appeal while addressing his crew. There was no emotion in his voice. “Guess I’ll have to give you a good incentive not to escape anymore.” His hand waved up and down as if he was casually choosing a snack from a vending machine, before pointing one finger at Sivan. 

“That one.” 

Ianus had expected them to take out their rage on him, since he was the designated leader. He watched with horror when one of the batarians, clad in heavy, servo-assisted armour, moved to shove Sivan to the ground. Under the punch, the old man folded up, his field cap tumbling to his feet, only to be buried underneath him. The batarian bent down in a short, casual movement, twisting Sivan’s leg as if it was nothing more than a brittle twig. 

A jolt of rage shot through Ianus. Despite his bound wrists, he reared to get to his friend’s aid, tearing at his restraints and against the hands holding him down. Words left his mouth, unintelligible, a string of swears while he tried reaching Sivan writhing in his pool of pain. Flashes of memory, of his squad killed in front of his eyes, raced through his mind like strobe lights.

It took three men to hold Ianus down while he struggled against them, fighting for his freedom until he collapsed in exhaustion. They wrenched him upright, unbound his wrists, the barrel of a pistol digging against the back of his head. Cold and unyielding.

“You, carry him.”

Through his haze of anger and powerlessness, Ianus registered the order. As gently as he could, he bent down to scoop Sivan up, a low croon in his throat. 

_ It will be alright_. 

It was all he could do to ease the pain. A verbal reassurance. The old man’s moist breath against his throat was almost unbearably hot. Back in the dirt, Sivan’s field cap lay forgotten. Ianus shot a last glance back, but didn’t say anything.

One sentence kept haunting his mind, unbearable, merciless, overpowering his thinking, his agency.

_ The Invictus left us. _

_ The Invictus left us. _

_ No hope. _

Hearts sinking, they stepped back into the musty room that had been their home for the last two days. In Ianus’ throat, the realization that they’d been abandoned by those they had looked up to for all those years had formed a hard lump he found unable to get rid of. Ianus didn’t dare look his crew in the eyes. He’d failed them all, and himself. He knew what their faces were going to reflect. Sivan, old and tired, in too much pain to be thinking about anything else than his immediate wellbeing. Undoubtedly, he was struggling with the fact he’d die far away from his family. Acilia, wide-eyed and in denial, who had idealized the Hierarchy all her life and found herself without stable ground. And Leucen, bitter, looking for any kind of outlet to vent his rage about the unfairness he was being subjected to.

“Delius, Taranis, get the mattress on the floor.”

Ianus worked as if in a trance. He heard his own voice, faint and monotone, through the numbness clouding his mind. The world reached him only through a thick fog, ever since that second he’d set eyes on the alien ship. The _ Invictus _ had gone, taking with it not only his hope, but also tearing down everything Ianus had believed in. For the first time in his life, he was on his own. 

His body worked on automatic as he set down Sivan as gently as he could, ordered the two ensigns to hold the old man while he removed his boot and folded back the trouser leg. Despite the short time since the injury, a greenish bruise had formed, like an ugly inkstain, tinting the tan of Sivan‘s hide a sick-looking shade of green.

With an inhale, Ianus set to work methodically, running his hands over Sivan’s leg, looking for the fracture. Fingers reached and pressed along flesh and plate gently, until he found the spot, right underneath where the leg spur broke through. Sivan yowled, a pitiful sound, and he recoiled from Ianus’ touch.

“Hold him down!” Ianus snarled. Acilia and Leucen acted on accord, putting their whole body weight into keeping Sivan from rearing while Ianus worked on. Four hands were barely enough. The way Sivan snapped at the air in an attempt to give an outlet to his agony was heartbreaking to witness. Sivan Medina was no stranger to being captured and mistreated, and yet, Ianus recognized the fear in his eyes, the fear of never seeing his family anymore, because of some little fledgling’s stupidity. In Ianus’ mind, the voices of his crew complaining echoed on, about how unnecessary they found all the drills he put them through, all the times he’d ordered them awake during their rest periods to train different scenarios. 

Right now, Ianus was happy he had been so adamant about it. Not that he was medically trained to know exactly how to set a broken bone. His first aid knowledge was rather limited, but he set to it as diligently as he could, gently aligning the shin despite Sivan’s trashing, piece by piece. At least, the fracture seemed clean, and Ianus hoped he hadn’t overlooked any splinters. The haemocyanic compounds in turian blood did give them an advantage in regard to wound healing, but without any proper means of first aid, not even that would help Sivan against blood poisoning.

“Leucen, take over his leg. Hold here.” Ianus waited until the young man had assumed his position at Sivan’s feet before getting out of his jacket and removing his undershirt. Ignoring Sivan’s pained groans underneath him, Ianus snapped the jacket’s closures shut and folded the garment as meticulously as he always would. He had his principles, no matter under what circumstances he found himself. It was a grounding mechanism of sorts, making sure everything had its place and was neatly folded. As if folded clothes equaled a life properly lived. 

When he was done, he sat back on his haunches to plan the next steps. Ianus hadn’t splinted someone’s leg in at least a decade. With a pensive hum, he observed the bruise while he snapped the thread that held the undershirt’s side seam. The only thing he could do to make sure the bone would stay more or less aligned was to wrap the shin in a bandage, given they had no proper splint. The shirt had to do. Ianus wrapped the fabric around the injured leg as tightly as he dared, tying it off with the sleeves. Not the best for sure, but it was all he was able to do right now.

The little light the lamp above them gave made the gash on Ianus‘ chest appear even darker than it usually would, a deep, jagged ravine that crossed his keel diagonally, from his right shoulder down to his ribs. A perfect slash that had lead to deeper probing, a testament to an alien’s morbid fascination with turian anatomy. 

Leucen’s eyes stayed glued to the scar. Most of the crew knew. Ianus had a habit of working out naked, so those sharing the cruiser’s gym had undoubtedly seen him. It was a miracle Leucen had never crossed him in the shower before. The subvocal falter didn’t go unnoticed by Ianus who took it with as much grace as he could. A weird sort of embarrassment made itself home in his chest at the stare. Not that he was ashamed of the gash under normal circumstances — on the contrary. Most of the time, Ianus stood on top of his troubled emotions, flaunting the scar quite openly. The looks and reactions he got in public bathhouses were enticing for sure. It was only in moments like these, or when he was alone in his cabin, that the insecurity, the self-loathing would come rushing back, mirrored in the furtive glance in an ensign’s eyes.

They carried Sivan to the other bed with combined forces, sitting at his side stroking his forehead and neck giving him their most comforting purrs until the old man fell into tired slumber. Even Leucen, who would never participate in team actions, did his part.

When Sivan had finally fallen asleep, Ianus had no more energy to give. He felt drained. Weariness had taken over his limbs, filled them with lead. Every motion took way too much effort. 

“Go get rest,” he growled at the two youngsters staring at him. Right now, he couldn’t stand their imploring glances, the way they looked at him as if he had a plan, as if he magically knew what they had to do by virtue of being their captain. Ianus had no idea, and feeling so hopeless, so utterly naked, reminded him too much of that fateful day. No, he didn’t want to go back there, that dark time where he’d tried staying strong, feigning indifference, where every night by himself was filled with soul-crushing guilt, and every day he’d put his mask on in an effort of showing everyone how well he’d overcome his trauma. For the sake of his crew, he couldn’t show them what pained him inside now, either. They depended on him to lead them. If they saw him lose hope, what would happen?

“Put the mattress back, go sleep,” he repeated when the little ones kept looking at him. “You need to keep your strength up.”

Ianus felt as if he were falling. He fervently wished Sivan were here with him, safe and healthy instead of being injured, tossing in troubled half-sleep. Sivan getting hurt had been Ianus’ fault, for his unsuccessful escape plan, and yet, he knew Sivan was never going to reproach him. Maybe that was what hurt the most. No matter what happened, the old man had nothing but kind and gentle words for anyone, even for Leucen when he decided to act stubborn. Maybe he reminded Sivan of his own daughters, so far away, oblivious of what their father was going through.

With a frustrated huff, Ianus reached for his jacket, but changed his mind. He was too wound up to sleep. So he did what he always did when he was nervous — he worked out. Systematically, counting down the reps under his breath. It did good, the tingling of blood filling all of his extremities, the fatigue that took hold of his muscles after a certain time. He didn’t look up when Acilia joined him for push-ups, though even though he didn’t acknowledge her presence, he was grateful for the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was REALLY painful to write, and I apologize. Please feel free to scream at me in the comments or hop over to [my Tumblr](https://bronzeagelove.tumblr.com) and do the same by sending me [an ask](https://bronzeagelove.tumblr.com/ask) ...


	6. Interlude: Satine Vaenius

“Sir, but- …yes sir.”

Satine Vaenius slapped the off-button of her workstation with more force than needed. What a mess! It wasn’t enough that she’d lost contact with Captain Etherian and the rest of the missing crew. She had adhered to protocol, called High Command, waited patiently for their decision. She’d expected them to tell her to brief her marines about planning an interception to save their own. She’d pleaded, she’d tried arguing, even sweet talking. To no avail. It had been a simple no, a ‘too risky’, a ‘not worth it’. As if lives were mere numbers on paper, so easy to discard.

Satine punched the wall besides her bathroom unit in an attempt to get her frustrations under control, but all it did was to leave her with sore knuckles in addition to the nauseating turmoil making her whole body quiver. She’d been ordered, in all honesty, to leave her captain and senior XO behind, and there was nothing she could do right now, except following her orders. Satine Vaenius had followed orders all her life, and she would do it again, no matter how much it pained her. Her injured hand throbbed angrily. Giving herself a last look in the mirror to make sure she looked respectable enough, she set out.

The way down to the cell block felt longer than ever. Not even when going down to escort prisoners to their destined punishment had she felt as laden with dread as now. Every step was laced with remorse, the heaviness tugging at her feet.

Ensign Anthas had been confined to one of the holding cells to wait for the captain‘s return and his judgement. When Satine stepped in front of the energy field, the young man looked up, a mixture between confusion and hope on his mask-like features. 

His mother had been a mercenary for a few years before requesting a reintegration into the Meritocracy. She had given birth to Tyres on a frigate far out in the fringe regions of Hierarchy space. Since he hadn’t been born on a planet and his mother had been working for a private security group at that time, Tyres had inherited his markings from her: a row of sharp teeth in white all along his upper mouth plates, similar to a stylized skull design, giving him a perpetually aggressive look. But having worked with him, Satine knew he had the sweetest disposition. A weird kind of dissonance to what one would assume from looking at him. Maybe once he was old enough, he‘d get them changed to something that suited him better, from a place he felt at home at.

With a flick of her omni-tool, Satine deactivated the door lock.

“Ensign Anthas, back to your station.”

Tyres rose from the bunk with an incredulous chirp, straightening his fatigues in an attempt to appear more presentable.

“Is the captain…” he started, but Satine cut him short with a growl. There was no use keeping the truth from him no matter how much it pained her. Better get it over with.

“Captain Etherian is not coming back. Our orders are to keep to our schedule and return to Palaven. Take up your work. High Command will decide in your case.”

Tyres gave another chirp, opened his mouth for a question. She shot him a warning glance and saw him deflate when realization caught up to him. The way his shoulders sagged, the huff of air escaping his mouth said it all. 

Satine Vaenius wasn’t heartless. She’d seen Tyres in the galley, how he’d bob his head and coo in excitement every time Acilia decided to talk to him. Their quartermaster had played matchmaker for them, and even Satine, who considered herself too much of a professional to take a personal interest in her crew’s affairs of the heart, had found herself enjoying the fledglings’ tentative advances. It couldn’t be easy for the young man, having his captain, his closest friend _ and _ his crush taken from him in this fashion, with a possible indictment looming once they reached home. 

“Go to the engine room, Ensign.”

Satine repeated her order as gently as she could while observing the way his mandibles sagged, but he did pull himself together for a salute despite his subvocals singing grief. Each of his steps seemed impossibly heavy as he shuffled out. Satine’s head throbbed. A war raged inside of her. One part was trying to calm herself by telling her she was only following orders, and that was what she’d do, what she was raised and conditioned to do. But on the other hand, Satine felt it boil in her gut, the nasty aftertaste of having to follow through with something unwanted. As if she was committing treason. Or mutiny.

Going back to the bridge wasn’t any easier. The rest of the officers all rose from their stations to salute her, as it was required when the commanding officer came on deck, but instead of sitting back down, everyone kept watching her, silently. For anything. News, orders, encouraging words. Satine couldn’t bring herself to face them. Saying anything directly, telling them that High Command had denied them any action, that was too painful right now.

“Justinian. Set course for Palaven. Our mission will be resumed. No change to the itinerary.”

“But Captain Etherian-”

_Traitor_, the voice in her head piped up. For a fraction of a second, a thought bloomed; about disregarding High Command and getting the captain out on her own... but she had an order._ An order._ Satine’s mandibles clamped close to her face while she fought down the dread churning inside her. A commander couldn’t show her emotions, even if every word was painful to say.

“Navigator Justinian! You heard me. Set course for Palaven.”

She didn‘t dare look at the rest of her crew while they scurried back to their stations, her comm officer scrambling to put on their headset to ask ground control for release. When the magnetic locks were opened and a shiver ran through the _Invictus_, signaling their ready status for sail, Satine closed her eyes in an attempt to hide her remorse. _Treason_. That was what it felt like. No matter she was only following orders. She had been officially ordered to commit treason.


	7. Inspection

The slavers came for them the next morning. The boom of fists banging on their door shook Sivan from his slumber. Ianus had been up, pacing as always, but stopped dead when the door opened. No matter who it was, Ianus greeted them as he always would, standing straight, chest out, feet planted apart, hands behind his back. Cool air fanned around his bare abdomen, making his nose scrunch in discomfort. His waist felt strangely vulnerable without the undershirt covering it, but at least the captain’s stripe on his jacket and field cap shone as bright and red as it always had. 

Guns clicked: a warning not to move. As if prompted, Acilia and Leucen sank down on the bed staring at the batarians filing in, clutching at each other’s clothes with their eyes wide and mandibles pinched close to their faces. Two frightened chicks far away from home, their subvocals were not more than a whimper. Sheer terror. No matter how well they performed in their various on-duty drills — being confronted with a real threat shook them more than they could have imagined. Acilia and Leucen were almost crawling into each other. Ianus contemplated them for a moment before tearing his eyes from the pathetic sight, honing back in on their captors.

In addition to the Blue Suns who had brought them here, there were four of them, all in elegant yet functional clothes that showed their status. Another batarian kept slinking around the back, a scrawny female with a hump, looking out of place in her rags between the elegant dress and the gleaming armour. A servant of sorts. 

One of the slavers looked like the head of a clan, old and grizzled, her neck wrinkly as if it was made of pleated leather. Though she was dressed in beautifully ornate robes of silk, none of that beauty could play over the malice in her eyes. She walked as if she owned the galaxy, as if nobody else were important. Instinctively, Ianus knew she was trouble. A life of ruthless slave trade did that to people, stripped away the soul until only greed for money remained. She was talking to the Blue Suns leader in a hushed voice, too low for Ianus to pick up. He strained to hear what they were discussing, if it was about them, or if he could, in any way, find out what had prompted the _ Invictus _ to abandon them. Ianus hated feeling powerless. The last time he had, the rest of his team hadn’t survived.

He forced himself back into reality, tried keeping eye contact with one of the turian mercs standing in the background, to see if they had at least a hint of a doubt or remorse left in their souls, if there was a glimmer of hope they would help them get out. Both looked away when they noticed him stare. _Traitors_. The plates at the back of Ianus’ head prickled with anger. How could they betray their own kind? _ How could they! _ Seeing a glimpse of his pistol strapped to another mercenary’s leg did not make him feel better either. Ianus commissioned the weapon as a special gift for himself after he’d been appointed captain, and even though he had never used it in combat, he had trained with it every week at the cruiser’s shooting range, and kept it with him as part of his gala uniform. That pistol was a part of him, perfectly molded to his hand, built to his specifications. A Brawler Heavy Pistol made by Armax Arsenal, the Hierarchy’s main supplier. Seeing a turian-built weapon in the hand of a batarian, that hurt. Ianus suppressed a growl, looked after his pistol swaying out of view. He knew in his gut this was the last he’d see of it. 

Meanwhile, the old batarian had finished her talk with the Blue Suns and turned towards them. Like a captain walking down the line at the morning appeal, she strolled past, robes billowing after her as if blown around by invisible winds. One of the mercs had wrenched Sivan upright. He was standing as straight as he could on his one good leg, though the way he held his mandibles clearly showed the pain he was in. And yet, he wouldn’t show any kind of discomfort beyond that. He’d been captured during Relay 314. Sivan knew what it meant, being at the enemy’s mercy. But all this was of course unknown to the old batarian, who only took a fleeting look at him before turning to the Blue Suns. “A bit old,” she said, “and you damaged him. I won’t pay much for him.”

She didn’t seem to be overjoyed right now, but her mood switched as soon as she reached Acilia and Leucen, still clinging to each other, clutching at their grimy uniforms. They were forced to stand up at gunpoint, and kept their eyes cast to the floor while she creeped around them.

The left corner of the batarian’s mouth quirked upwards. “Much better. These two look strong.” One wrinkled hand reached out to grope at Acilia’s waist, assessing her musculature. The girl’s distressed squeal made Ianus look up. _ They are under my protection_, he wanted to yell, on top of his lungs, _ don’t harm them. Don’t dare speak about them as if they were things to be discarded_. But he kept quiet, concentrated on his breath. In and out. The dusty air burned in his lungs. In and out. If there were benevolent spirits looking down on him, Ianus fervently hoped they’d condescend to helping them now.

“When my father hears of this, you’ll be sorry!” Acilia hissed, out of the blue. The batarian stopped mid-squeeze to hone in on her, two of her eyes blinking, lazily. “Oh yeah?” she purred, and her grin broadened, made her jowls ripple. “So you’re telling me I got myself a good catch?”

Confronted with the question, Acilia's mandibles pinched close to her face, and she backed against Leucen who, against all odds, wrapped his arms around her.

Ianus tensed. Of all the things Acilia could do, she chose to make the situation worse with her pride! Cold ran down his spine. He reacted without thinking.

“I hardly believe he could come and save you,” Ianus hollered, louder than appropriate. “Your father is a second-class galley cook!” He only had one chance of getting the batarian’s attention off of Acilia before the stupid chick managed to enmesh herself more deeply. If their captors found out she was a Hierarchy general’s daughter, it would only aggravate things.

The look on Acilia’s face at hearing his words was difficult to describe. Hurt, relief, despair. She, the poster child every Hierarchy official would want as their kid, who would never let anyone say even one wrong word about her family. But she caught herself surprisingly quick, head drooping under Ianus’ words. An obedient ensign. Ianus exhaled, his jaw unclenched as a part of his tension fell off him. If there was someone he could depend on to follow orders no matter under what circumstances, it would be Acilia.

The batarian took their exchange with a sardonic smile.

“You got your hands on some feisty ones,” she said back to the Blue Suns leader. The words burned itself into Ianus’ mind, resounding in his skull. _ Feisty ones. _

All he could do was watch, his body tense, while she continued her inspection as if nothing had happened. With a content murmur, she let go of Acilia, then ran her hand under Leucen’s chin. He tensed, squeezed his eyes shut while his head was forced upwards. One thumb stroked along the golden plates, checked the smoothness by turning his head here and there to catch the light. Even under the fluorescent tubes, the shine was something to behold. Sandy beige plate colorations were common amongst turians, though few had the warm sheen Leucen exhibited. Paired with the pale blue of his eyes, he was a striking sight that reminded Ianus of sunlight reflected on a sheet of ice. The young man kept his mandibles pinched close to his jaw while she touched him. Only when she’d let go and stepped back to address the mercenaries, Leucen dared look back at her.

“This one has a peculiar colour. Very pretty. I know a customer who would be willing to pay handsomely for an exotic plaything.”

The sound breaking from Leucen’s mouth was the most distressing Ianus had ever heard. Anger dawned red in front of his eyes. Ianus sprang into action against his own will. He worked on reflex, the only thing that mattered the safety of those assigned to him. His instincts driving him forward, he dove for one of the guards’ rifles, twisting his arm. In his haze, he didn’t notice the yelp of pain that accompanied his actions. His crew mattered. Only one more step…

Someone barreled into him, knocked the air from his lungs. He hit the concrete with a thud, flailing.

“Hold him!”

Ianus gasped for breath as his arms were forced around. The click of handcuffs, too tight for his wrists. Armoured gloves all along his body, pressing him to the unforgiving floor.

With sheer determination, Ianus heaved himself around in the direction of the slavers. “Don’t dare touch the fledglings!” he roared, struggling against the hands holding him down. “They are under my protection! Do you hear?”

“An unruly one.” The batarian shot a sideways glimpse towards him writhing on the ground. Her voice reached Ianus as if through a thick fog, indistinct, while he fought to keep his surging panic at bay. “We could use one of his size for forced labour. I’ll break his will soon enough. Knock him out. We’re leaving.”

_ Don’t dare you lay a hand on my crew_! Ianus wanted to scream again, though all that came from his parched throat this time was a strangled keen. So this was what true helplessness felt like. It was terrifying, leaving him paralyzed. Someone moved around him. In the periphery of his field of vision, one of the mercenaries loomed, lifted his weapon, as if in slow motion. All Ianus felt was stabbing pain when someone whacked him over the head with the butt of a rifle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am truly sorry, Ianus.


	8. Uneasy Allies

“Get up.”

A heavy, armoured boot prodded Ianus’ side. Not his favourite way of waking up after being knocked out cold. His head throbbed, a steady, sharp pulsating that made his teeth hurt, dripping down to mix with the steady tear of his empty gizzard.

They didn’t speak a word while they were ushered into a vehicle with darkened windows, and then off to a nameless shuttle, to a nameless station. For a second, Ianus contemplated his chances of escape, but the weight of Sivan pressing against his chest reminded him of the impossibility. His legs shook, induced by the lack of food. Gritting his teeth, Ianus trudged on, keeping himself as straight as he could. There was no way in the galaxy they would make it out. Again, the realization that the _ Invictus _ abandoned them hit him, hard and unforgiving. He gave a growl, only to have a rifle nudge the back of his neck. The rest of the journey was spent in silence, apart from Sivan’s pained groans whenever he was jostled. Ianus had asked for a medic, but again, all he got as an answer was silence.

The new room they were shoved into after a few hours of transit time wasn’t much of an improvement from the old one. It was just as improvised, just as run down, enough to make Ianus wonder briefly if neither mercenaries nor slavers cared for the members or their workforce by giving them such measly living arrangements. It followed the classic layout of two beds and one tiny alcove that defied the definition of bathroom, Ianus realized, his heart sinking.

Ianus hoped they’d get a chance at taking a shower here, or at least a few enzyme tabs for oral hygiene. His tongue felt furry and puffy against his gums. Even some cleanser and a cloth would have done the job. Turians didn’t sweat and had dry mouths, thus they weren’t as dependent on daily baths and tooth brushing as other species were, but his crew were used to regular steam showers on the cruiser. Ianus’ hide itched. He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly, then tried to clean his uniform of the worst dirt by rubbing it with the palm of a hand. Given his training in the Ground Forces, Ianus was used to extreme conditions. While he didn’t enjoy it, he could tolerate extended times of strain.

Acilia and Leucen seemed to have more problems in this regard, given they spent all of their enlisted time on spaceships where daily hygiene was mandatory. Acilia did her best not addressing the problem, but Ianus knew Leucen was a vain creature. He had the quartermaster confiscate the young man’s body oil because it was so strongly scented; half of the bridge crew complained of headaches if they had to work near Leucen for extended amounts of time. Seeing Leucen clearly uncomfortable in his skin, stealthily scratching away at dry patches was sad to behold. Even though Ianus’ thoughts kept piping up that Leucen should stop behaving like a delicate chick, he did feel uncomfortable himself and had no trouble empathizing. He’d have given anything for a quick steam shower, a brush, and some oil. A tooth tab, too. And a file to shorten his talons. 

Used to wearing them short as a requirement for working in the Navy, the feeling of his nails scraping over fabric and hide was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. But there was nothing he could do except taking the situation with calm and trying to appear strong for his crew’s sake. If he could stand himself being dirty and not show discomfort, the others would surely take him as a good example.

On and on Ianus’ pondering went while he tucked Sivan in, until the stare of the others’ eyes on him grew again too strong to ignore. Nobody dared to take action without him. His voice tired, Ianus assigned the other bed to the fledglings. He was hungry, exhausted, beat up, forced to stay and protect those assigned to him, no matter how weak he felt — and yet, a captain would not yield.

* * *

Hours flowed into each other, until Ianus wasn’t sure anymore what time it was. As if on automatic, he spent his time tending to Sivan and working out on the floor despite the hunger tearing him apart. Sit-ups, squats and crunches until he was too tired to move, surrendering to the leaden heaviness taking over his body and mind. Curled up on the floor, panting freely, Ianus registered the sound of steps echoing in the hallway only in passing. Nobody had yet come to them. Ianus had asked for food before being brought here, only to have the door shut in his face. But this time, it opened, the bright light flooding in from the corridor making him squint.

Ianus recognized the batarian from the day before. A scrawny thing, smaller and thinner than the others, with a furtive look to her and hunched shoulders. She didn’t look like a slaver, more like one of those unentitled nobodies who would busy themselves with menial tasks around important people, trying to siphon off at least a bit of influence and prestige. A patchwork coat, mended and greasy, was draped over her shoulders. She still had the hump on her back Ianus had noticed when he’d first seen her skulk around behind the slavers. At first, he had assumed it was some kind of deformity, but while she stood in the door, the hump started stirring, and gave one single, weak whimper. A baby. 

“Something to eat,” was all she said while she kept a pistol pointed at them, sliding a tray with four pouches of nutrient paste in their direction with her foot. She didn’t trust them. No wonder.

The food looked like pilfered Hierarchy rations to Ianus, but by now he was so ravenous he would have eaten anything, without asking questions about the provenance. The batarian’s eyes never left him when he moved to grab the paste. Only after he’d drawn back, she crouched down herself, taking four rectangular slabs from somewhere inside her coat. Again, she slid the food towards them, before leaving silently.

Ianus stared at the packets lying forlorn right inside the door.

“What is that?” Acilia asked, clearly curious. Her head bobbed while she eyed the strange bricks. Ianus tilted his head in a shrug.

“Let’s see.”

He grabbed one and tore at the wrapper. Inside was a crumbly, sticky substance, dark brown and with a slightly burnt scent that made Ianus’ nose crinkle in disgust. “Food of sorts,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t touch it.”

“May I?” Acilia extended her hand, then shied back as well when the aroma hit her nostrils. “I think it’s sugar. Why would she give this to us?”

“I don’t know,” Ianus admitted. His instinct was to throw the sugar away. “Store these for me, Acilia,” he said instead. Not that he knew what to do with the stuff. Turians didn’t have the physiology to detect sweetness properly, so if this was meant as a perk-me-up or a sort of goodie, it was going to be lost on them. 

Acilia nodded, seamlessly sliding back into her role of liaison officer. No matter where they were, she was still the captain’s assistant, and would make sure his orders were executed the right way, no matter if they made sense or not.

The scrawny batarian seemed to be assigned to bring them food two times a day. Finally. It wasn’t much, and while Ianus hated himself for being thankful for it, he couldn’t wait for her arrival. Having a sort of routine to their days restored a hint of control for him. Each time the batarian came, she did the same. She opened the door, standing far enough as not to be grabbed from the inside, pointed her pistol at them and slid their food towards them with her foot. She never said a word. Whenever she left, Ianus got up to distribute the food to Sivan and the fledglings. Most were pilfered Hierarchy rations or dextro nutrient paste, long gone stale, hastily gathered up here and there. They didn’t know where the stuff came from, but nobody complained. Better than nothing in any case. 

Ianus suspected they were kept on a minimal calorie diet on purpose, to slowly erode their strength, both the physical and mental one. Turians weren’t made for long periods of fasting, given they stored close to no body fat. Whereas certain mammals could go for months without eating and would be fine as long as they had access to fresh water, turians found it a lot harder to do so. A week without food could get them into critical territory and at danger of organ failure. The lot of those evolved from apex predators. Ianus wasn’t sure if the batarians knew how dangerous it could be to keep turians hungry, but in any case, he made sure the rest of his crew was taken care of before him. By build, Ianus was much bigger than the rest of his crew. He towered over most other turians by a head, a fact he had hated as a youngster but it did come in handy both during combat and when relying on intimidation, when sheer bulk could make a difference. On top of his natural physique, years of rigorous workout regime had left him with much more muscle mass and endurance than the others. He could go on longer without food than his crew. Or at least, it was what he tried telling himself.

And every time she came, the batarian brought more sugar. Three times already.

“What is this?” Ianus barked at her after two days, unable to contain his curiosity. “Are you trying to make us sick?”

She flinched as if she’d been struck, before looking him straight in the eye.

“No.” Her voice was high, and sharp. Not what Ianus had expected. “I’m trying to save you.”

With that, she closed the door. Her words echoed in Ianus’ head, made his jaw clench. Behind him, subvocals erupted in a cacophony of confusion, with a tinge of hope. Nobody addressed the cryptic remark, but in the evening, Ianus awaited the food rations, even more impatient.

The batarian never averted her gaze, and neither did she lower her pistol. She trusted them as little as they did. No wonder.

“Why should you want to help us, batarian?“ Ianus asked when she returned, leaning against the opposite wall as far as possible from her. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Her face didn‘t betray anything if she felt insulted.

“You need to keep your strength up,” she whispered the next time after giving them their food. “It‘s pure carbohydrates. I know not what you usually eat, but this shouldn‘t get you sick.”

When nobody answered, gaping at her instead, she continued.

"My name is Ker. I will get you out.”

Ianus’ barking laugh echoed through the room, making Ker flinch before she caught herself.

“Laugh as much as you want, Captain. I may be your only chance.”

“Is that so? And what are your terms, assuming you can indeed free us?”

“Asylum in Citadel space. Full political immunity, for myself and my daughter,” she said. Her voice was steady, but there was a waver in it, a certain hint of insecurity that Ianus knew too well. It was what gave everyone away who was trying to act big and brave, but had only rehearsed their lines to themselves, silently. She looked at them, not blinking. 

“When I saw you…” her voice broke off before she regained a little courage. “You are my only chance out of this life. The Hegemony is not kind to their people.”

“I don’t care about your Hegemony, and I doubt you’re strong enough to help us,” Ianus snarled. The nerve, demanding asylum from her own people!

This time, Ker blinked her many eyes at the same time, a slow, calculated move. _ I am not out to get you. I will close my eyes in front of you. _ The display was weird to Ianus, but deep inside, he understood.

“There will be a change of teams in three days. That means less personnel overall, and there will be time spans where guards are stood down. I can make it look as if I was transferring you to a different place, and get you to the docks instead. I have a friend who can fly a shuttle. It’s the only chance I can give you, and myself.”

A sound behind them. Ker looked up, a wave of fear flitting over her features. The pistol swung back to point at the turians before she backed out without another word. Behind her, the door closed with a definite click.

For a while, Ianus stared at the closed door, processing the situation. A weird feeling had started blooming in his chest, one Ianus had difficulties identifying. It was a sort of hope, that warm, tingling sensation that there might be a chance for them, and yet… No. Lies, an attempt at deceiving them. The faces of his squad loomed, accusing.

“Her proposal isn’t bad, Captain,” Sivan said, eyes still closed. He wasn’t yet able to move his leg, but he did look a little better than the day before. “Anything to get us out.”

“Yes, Captain,” Acilia concurred. Her face shone with helpful positivity. “She did sound honest. I think we should follow her suggestion.”

It wasn’t that Ianus didn’t understand what a chance had been given to him right now, from one of the enemy. He knew. Ker was the closest thing to a chance at escape, especially now that he'd turned down Leucen's offer and they had been abandoned by the _ Invictus_. He'd maneuvered himself into a dead end. And yet… memories hit him, like a punch to the gut. Stabbing pain as he woke up, his wrists bound, up over his head. Cold air against his naked torso. He’d trashed to get away while the omni-blade came closer, the orange glow reflected in his captor’s eyes as he lifted it. The feeling of that blade, carving into him, tantalizingly slow, a trail of agony all down his chest while he screamed. The soul-splitting pain that turned his vision white-hot. Ianus wasn’t one to beg, and yet, that day, he’d begged them to stop, and, when they didn’t, to kill him. Oh, how he’d pleaded! But they hadn‘t given him that satisfaction either. When the intervention team arrived to break him free, they’d found him lying in a pool of his own congealed blood, whimpering gibberish, unable to comprehend what was happening around him.

Ianus’ pain found its outlet.

‘I will not side with filthy batarians!_ I. Will. Not_!’ he roared, teeth bared. He wouldn’t forget, he couldn’t! He was not going to accept a chance for freedom, not when offered by a batarian. Acilia’s eyes darted down to where he was stroking along the scar on his chest, clutching at the only physical remnant he’d taken home that day. Everyone had heard the rumours on how Captain Ianus had gotten his scar, about how he’d been tortured, how he had seen his team slowly killed one after the other when they wouldn‘t speak.

Acilia’s hand on his shoulder. The touch was unbearably hot, shooting through him like fire. Ianus turned like a cornered animal, snapping at her, his teeth slicing the air in front of her face in a warning. “Go away!”

She squeaked, startled, taking two steps back only to collide with Leucen. Ianus recognized the hurt and confusion in her eyes, at him attacking her as if she were an enemy to be scared away. She’d always been his favourite, the model ensign, the shiny example he measured all of his crew on. Maybe he shouldn’t have pampered her so much, only for being some general’s kid?

“Captain, calm down, you’re not yourself!” Sivan shouted from his place on the bed, adding to the general confusion. In between the cacophony of their voices and subvocals falling over each other, the plea was drowned out. Sivan was the only one Ianus would listen to, but Ianus was too far gone in his own memories. He had suppressed them for too long, spent too much time lying to himself and to others in his attempt of appearing strong. The emotions coming back with such vehemence surprised even him. In front of his eyes, his squad loomed, all the faces of those he’d let down. Ianus felt helpless, unable to shield himself from everyone’s prying looks. Too much. Like a dam breaking after too much stress, Ianus screamed out all of his anger and frustration at his crew, a litany of swears, every word cutting the air. About them not following orders, that it was their fault his favourite pistol now belonged to a batarian…

Both Leucen and Acilia stared at him wide-eyed, not making a sound, enduring the verbal onslaught until Ianus ran out of things to say. They’d never seen their captain lose his self-control before. On the cruiser, Ianus was the calm, calculating one, still as a statue on the bridge, the only movement the twitch of his mandibles, and the growled commands occasionally leaving his mouth. It was an unsettling experience, the way he stood, breath coming in rapid puffs while he panted to calm down. His tongue hung out, eyes two mere slits, grey like the clouds before a thunderstorm, cold fire burning in them.

“Acilia, Leucen, come here. Give the captain space,” Sivan’s voice rang out over the shocked silence. The words weren’t loud, but there was no reason to shout. Dust mites tumbled in the air, only disturbed by Ianus’ rapid breathing. The little ones followed the order without leaving Ianus’ gaze, retreated against their XO’s side, huddled together. Sivan’s one free hand lifted to run his fingertips along Acilia’s back first, then Leucen’s, a fatherly attempt at calming them down.

The walls seemed impossibly close, crowding in on Ianus. With a snarl, shoulders hunched, he turned towards the wall in a feeble attempt at escaping, as far away from everyone else as he could. Ianus knew he hurt them, evident in the way the fledglings kept glancing his way, their eyes full of disbelief, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. No, he wouldn’t follow a batarian’s suggestion for an escape plan. And neither would he beg some Blackwatch agent to come save him. Ianus Etherian knew better than to trust any of them.


	9. No Roots, No Voice

The next morning brought Ker with another portion of food and a small datapad she slipped in with their rations, though she didn’t speak. She didn’t linger for long either. Ker was like a flight animal, easily scared, her eyes always darting here and there. Whenever a sound, even the faintest one, rang out from the corridor, she’d grow tense, and slip away. The reason why Ker left so abruptly this time was made clear when they heard the tell-tale stomp of armoured boots out in the corridor.

Ianus gathered their rations and slipped the datapad under Sivan‘s mattress in an effort of hiding it.

The group of slavers, including their grizzled leader, were the same as before, only the armed mercenaries with them had changed. Ianus suspected they were intermediaries, making their money with captives gathered here and there before being brought to a bigger distribution center.

“You seem to have settled in by now”, the old batarian said, “I hope the lodgings are to your satisfaction.” Her lips split into a grin, cold and unforgiving, showing rows of baleen-like teeth. Ianus had never gotten the hang of aliens, especially not those who smiled. All he saw in bared teeth was aggression.

“We won‘t bow to you no matter what,” Ianus growled back, mimicking her by lowering his mandibles. Turians didn’t smile the way other species did, and neither were they big on sarcasm, but he could fall back on intimidation tactics. Unfazed, she blinked one eye at him.

“Still believe you can escape? I don‘t think so. As soon as your implants are ready, you’re mine.”

With a flourish of her hand, she turned around to one of her lackeys, a big, hulking barefaced turian carrying a case of black steel. He didn‘t look at them while he set it down with a dead-sounding clang. Ianus disliked the implications, but he kept himself as still as he could. His body hurt enough right now. Angering their captors again wasn’t going to make things easier. The swelling on his eyelid had only started going down this morning.

“Strip them of their clan markings.” Her voice was impassive, as if she’d ordered this uncountable times. “I don’t want them tracked back to Council space.”

Ianus snarled under his breath._ Colony, not clan! _ he wanted to yell. _ It connects us to where we’re from, so we don’t forget. So if we waver, we can look at ourselves in the mirror and remember what we stand for, what our ancestors accomplished. _

Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach while his hands were wrenched back and the tell-tale buzz of handcuffs clicking in place filled the room.

Leucen took it with calm, or maybe he was so frozen with fear that not even a whimper slipped past his mouth plates when they moved in to apply the acid that dissolved the topmost layer and dye. Not even Sivan, who had the most extensive markings, flinched. It took them almost an hour to strip the colour from his face, and yet the old man kept his stoic stance no matter the pain they inflicted on him. A true soldier. 

But hearing Acilia’s keening broke Ianus’ heart. Her family had lived and worked in Cipritine for decades, and she’d always carried her markings with a particular kind of self-importance, a badge of honour reminding her of who she was. Palaveni Blue, the colour was called, and many of those born on the homeworld wore it with pride. Despite the restraints, it took three men to hold her down because she wouldn‘t stop struggling — until one of the human mercenaries yelled at her to shut up and had pointed his gun at her. Ianus had to look away, even though after her keen had died down to an exhausted whimper it kept resounding in his skull.

Ianus was the last they came for. Whether that was by chance, or if they planned to demoralize him by having him witness his crew being stripped of their markings first, Ianus didn’t know. He sat ramrod straight, his jaw locked, eyes forward. Ianus swore not to show any kind of weakness towards that scum, no matter how much they hurt him. 

Removing the markings stung like the blazes, a searing pain of tiny needles perforating his plates. The topmost layer, called the cere, wasn’t innervated, but while not the most sensitive part on a turian’s body, injuries of the lower plate strata did hurt. Ianus clenched his teeth while they worked around him. The stench of solvent fumes filled the air, scratched in his lungs. A far cry from the medically approved solutions used in the specialized shops turians visited to have their markings redone. 

The slow renewal and growth of the plates made a touch-up necessary every few years, depending on personal turnover and wound healing. Ianus had his done only last year, and the thought of having his markings removed by a bunch of slavers in such a sloppy way made bitterness spread in his mouth, mixing with the furry tang coating his tongue.

The plates would stay tender until the cere grew back to protect the under layers, and it would effectively lock the colour in after it was applied. In their case, Ianus expected the healing process to take far longer since they hadn’t been given any kind of anesthetic or cream to promote healing. Even some medigel would have been appreciated, but when Ianus asked, he was scoffed at. 

When they were done, the old batarian returned. She walked down the line inspecting each and everyone of them, and her jowls lifted into what Ianus suspected was a pleased smile at seeing them barefaced. When she turned to speak with one of her staff, he strained to hear, but it was too faint to pick up. Ianus was desperate for any kind of information that could help them determine where they were, or what their fate was going to be. 

The batarian shot a quick glance back at them before raising her voice, addressing one of the humans who had been idly standing at the door, watching the scene with mild boredom — he’d surely been in enough situations like this one. 

“Call Larkin. I want their translators off. I’m sick of them eavesdropping whenever I open my mouth.”

“Understood.”

The turning off worked as swiftly as scrambling their omni-tools, even on their Hierarchy-issue implants. Ianus didn’t know which one of them was the hacker, but they were good, far more skilled than Ianus ever anticipated. The realization these batarian slavers were way more advanced than the oafs he always took them for hit him like a punch to the gut. How much had he underestimated the enemy in all those years, simply because he found everyone else underneath him and his own species?

From one second to the next, the words forming in his head turned into a foreign melody, as simply as switching a vid from one language to another — There wasn’t even a stutter or static. The batarians spoke more melodiously than Ianus anticipated, and the realization that batarians had a pleasant language upset him. It would have been far more satisfying to realize they spoke something unpleasant.

“We’re on our own then,” Sivan said when they were gone, his voice low. With a pang of regret, Ianus realized this was the first time he experienced his best friend talking without a translator. Truly, he had missed out on a lot by always adhering to regulations, by not allowing himself to step out of his self-imposed boundaries. 

Sivan had a peculiar lilt to his Palaveni, a dialect he recognized as coming from the northern hemisphere of Palaven, and underneath, at the end of the words, lingered a hint of whatever was left over from where he was born.

With an exhale, Ianus turned towards the ensigns still cowering in the corner. He had been too absorbed to look after them for a moment, but his prime objective was still to care for them.

“Are you two ok?”

“Yes, Captain, I’m fine. A bit shaken. Doesn’t sting much,” Acilia said. Her voice was melodious, textbook perfect, every sound as clear as a news anchor’s. Ianus relaxed his shoulders. At least he could depend on her to keep morale up. Not like the other headache near her.

“Ensign Delius? How about you?”

The young man sat with his legs tucked up, and only looked up when he was addressed. He stared at Ianus with anger for a few seconds before burying his face back behind his knees. Not an inch of give, no matter how compassionate Ianus tried to be. Spirits. Anger bubbled up in Ianus’ gizzard. The youngster wouldn’t learn. Ianus’ fists clenched while he took one step to tower over his unruly ensign.

“Ensign Delius? Answer me, that’s an order!”

Blue eyes full of hurt set on Ianus. The command didn’t seem to have much of an impact, though Leucen did give a light keen of distress, as if he himself wasn’t sure what he was going to say was a smart reaction.

“Ah’m not okay, yah? Ah dun’ wanna talk about it!” he mumbled, gaze fixed on his knees.

Ianus recognized the accent in an instant. Silona Colony. What the rest of the turian systems joked was the most backwards of them all, a place where produce came from. A place without any remarkable sights nor feats. Nobody, and nothing important, came from Silona — except for farming jokes. Ianus suspected Leucen’s reluctance to talk or interact coming from him being ashamed for his accent. As if that mattered. 

With a sigh, Ianus massaged his forehead plate, only to wince from the pain of rubbing over the tender spots where his markings had been removed. The cere wasn’t going to grow back for quite some time. Both Acilia and Leucen didn’t have extensive markings, so they were better off, but Ianus suspected Sivan was in quite some pain -- the way he was curled up on his bed, trying not to put any pressure on his face, showed it clearly enough. 

His heart sank while he observed the dreadful state his crew was in. Not much was left of the proud Hierarchy soldiers with purpose in their eyes and steadfastness in their hearts. Half of them had lost their field caps, they were dirty and tired, and their hopeless situation was gnawing at their resolve with increasing speed. Ianus screwed up his eyes in an attempt to get on top of his diving mood. It was hard, _ so hard_, having to lead sometimes. And yet, he could not bring himself to showing anyone how much he was starving for some nice words or reassurance. He was alone. 

_ One more effort at being reasonable_.

“Ensign Delius, smooth your feathers. It doesn’t matter from what hick town you came from. All I want is for you to be part of this crew. Can you do that?”

“Go ‘way!”

Ianus’ hands clenched at the words. For a second, he felt like grabbing Leucen by his lapel and flogging some sense into him, if only for the satisfaction of venting his frustration, but he was too tired to act. Without another word, he turned on his heel. Angry thoughts screamed in his head, battling for dominance with the dull, throbbing pain of his acid-stained plates, and even though he did get down on the floor for a rigorous workout, he couldn’t silence them.


	10. Heart to Heart (1)

Ianus noticed Sivan feeling languid the next morning, and it filled his heart with dread. He’d prayed to the spirits for the leg fracture to be a clean one, without splinters, but the way Sivan lay curled up on his side, his subvocals unwittingly showing the strain his body was in, Ianus knew deep inside that blood poisoning must have started. As every morning, Ianus was the first up, and he padded over to Sivan to check how he was doing before the fledglings woke. Some things he’d rather not do in front of his ensigns. Captain Ianus wasn’t one to be compassionate, and he didn’t feel like opening up to teenagers either, no matter how close they had grown during the last few days.

“You’re burning up,” Ianus stated after he checked the temperature by wedging his fingers under Sivan’s jaw where the hide was softest. “It’s my fault.”

“No, lad. You did your best. That’s all I could wish for,” Sivan murmured back. When he opened his eyes a sliver to peer up at Ianus sitting at his side, they looked more glassy than usual. He hadn’t regurgitated a pellet since yesterday either. Not a good sign. Ianus exhaled, reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. Sivan stretched.

“Help me up, please. Let’s sit.”

“Of course.”

“Giving in to your anger is easy, isn't it, lad,” Sivan said out of the blue while they sat huddled together, contemplating the ensigns sleeping on the other bed. Acilia and Leucen had never been close while they were on the _ Invictus_. Ever since he had been assigned to his position as navigator, Leucen had done everything in his power to make himself unpopular by insulting those around him, and Acilia, as a general‘s daughter, had been a main target for his attacks. Ianus suspected she embodied everything he opposed; a wealthy family, a noble history, and a behaviour so impeccable she could have starred in a propaganda pamphlet for the Hierarchy. Things came easily to Acilia, no matter what she did, whereas Leucen had struggled with acceptance all his life. But nestled against each other in their sleep, they looked like brother and sister. Even their subvocals melted together, a tiny melody of calm surrounded by desolation.

“I know you take it as your duty to lead. But it‘s a burden you need to share. You‘ll break at one point.” 

There was no remorse in Sivan‘s voice. It was a simple remark.

Ianus gave a growl at the words. 

“So you noticed.” 

Naturally, he didn‘t like being opposed. He hadn‘t gotten to his position as a captain by showing weakness, or by being insecure. He‘d worked for his rank, shown dedication to the cause, didn’t question his orders, and it had come with a certain blunting of the soul. Ianus wasn‘t known for being nice to his crew, but he honoured dedication, hard work, and those following his orders without question. There was no place on the cruiser for rebels and disbelievers. Until Leucen came along, Ianus had made short work of troublemakers. Some detention and a few stern words, maybe a threat or two usually beat everyone into submission. The fear of what the Hierarchy was able to do if one didn‘t follow the rules was strong enough to make everyone comply. Those who didn’t fit were trodden down or made to conform. It was an unforgiving system, not a kind one. And yet, it offered security, familiarity. Opportunities for those who believed, who adhered to the rules. Ianus had never questioned High Command before, had always trusted in the meritocracy, had always been an advocate for the cause. At least before they had been left behind.

Ianus kept his eyes on the sleeping ensigns while mulling over an answer.

“Thank you for your concern. Being the one responsible for decisions, whether good or bad, that’s a captain’s lot. But… All of this…“ he gestured vaguely at the room. "I’m feeling helpless, and it is unsettling.“

“I know. And young Leucen makes you feel just as helpless, doesn't he?“

Another growl, completely involuntary, slipped from Ianus‘ throat. Sivan was right. As so often. The realization hit him with an unforgiving jolt. Ianus never talked about personal matters with Sivan, although he did consider him one of his closest friends. But sitting in the half-dark on a musty mattress, maybe it was time to let go of some ingrained habits.

Ianus inhaled while he mulled over an answer, smoothed the creases in his rumpled fatigues. How could he even try to explain to any of his crew what it meant for him to feel helpless? How could he even start to open up to them about the grasp of icy cold squeezing his lungs whenever he saw a batarian, the cold he’d trained to turn into the heat of molten metal when his mind took over? With Leucen, it was similar.

“I don‘t know how to handle him,” he started, before he stopped in an irritated huff. As if that mattered right now! For a few seconds, Ianus fought down the urge to stop talking, stop showing a different part of himself he was adamant about keeping hidden, but Sivan’s parental purr was both gentle and insisting. Keeping his gaze straight on, Ianus continued. “No matter what I do, he stays distant, he lashes out at me. You have witnessed him, too. But there is no malice in him. He’s… insecure, and I have no idea how to help him.”

“I see.” Sivan‘s mandibles quirked once, in gentle amusement. The remark wasn’t much, and yet, it was enough to entice Ianus into voicing more of his doubts. Ianus gave a frustrated sigh.

“You heard him. He let a Blackwatch Agent onto my ship, gave him access to his omni-tool. Why? I‘ve always made sure to be a good example for my ensigns, to show them the proper ways. I am sworn to protect them, no matter what happens. Even if the sky were to fall.“ Another huff, more irritated this time. “I don‘t want an agent of the Blackwatch to take hold of my ensign, Sivan! They might call themselves special forces, but they are so sworn to secrecy I don‘t trust their motives. Someone as insecure as Leucen in their hands? What if Agent Imperious only needs someone to infiltrate the Navy? I can‘t let that happen!“

Sivan‘s head butted against Ianus‘ mandible, like an encouragement, a reward for sharing his doubts. 

“What if they're simply young and in love? Maybe there‘s no ulterior motive behind Leucen‘s foolish behaviour. Just a thought for you, lad.”

_ Oh_.

Feeling foolish himself, Ianus grumbled a half-hearted answer. He’d been so dug in his conspiracy theories, always expecting others to try and harm him, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

It had been a long time since Ianus was last in love. So long that it was more an echo of a memory than anything else. Too long to remember the stupid things he’d let himself get carried away in.

With a thoughtful hum, Sivan patted his arm. He understood.

“You need to start being less hard on yourself. Find some forgiveness inside of you, and grant the same to Leucen. He needs your help, now more than ever. Be the captain we need you to be. Not the one you believe you have to be: strict and unforgiving. I‘ve seen my share of captains in my career, but the ones that were the most memorable were those who forgave when they had to.”

“Are you telling me I‘m an unmemorable captain?“

“No. You‘re too big not to be remembered.” Sivan laughed, a short, rueful huff. “You lead us well, Ianus. But I believe it‘s time for you to let go of some grudges. The little ones need you. I need you.”

“Thank you.” 

No, it wasn’t what Ianus wanted to hear. If anything, he felt disappointed Sivan didn’t encourage him in what he was used to, and yet… even Ianus knew he had to get that blockage out, somehow. He’d been running from his own problems for too long, hiding them behind his wall of self-imposed rules and regulations. Maybe, now was a good time to voice some concerns and vent that frustration that was hanging on him so heavily.

“I can’t get over the fact they abandoned us,” Ianus said into the empty air. “Like cattle to be slaughtered. I’ve grown up on tales of the Hierarchy never abandoning their members. I always believed in the stories, that they valued everyone who did their part, who helped the cause…”

Sivan’s hand found his, squeezed once in silent understanding.

“I heard of such things happening before. Never thought it would concern me. When people were left behind, it would always be agents, too far inside the Terminus, too risky to retrieve. But a cruiser crew…”

A snarl broke from Ianus’ throat.

“We always served well! I can’t fathom why High Command abandoned us, and it’s killing me. I don’t know what to do anymore! As if my will to fight has withered ever since the _ Invictus _ left us. I’m tired, Sivan. Really tired. And I’m angry at myself. I tried everything I could, and it was not enough. I failed you all.”

In the darkness, Sivan leaned over to lay his head on Ianus’ shoulder. Heavy and solid, a small island of warmth.

“No you didn’t. You gave it your best, lad. You give us all hope. Don’t forget that. You acted like the bravest of our kind.”

Ianus exhaled at the kind words. No, he couldn’t admit it to himself that he’d done a good job, but it felt good knowing Sivan had his back.

“Have you looked at the datapad we’ve been given?” Sivan’s voice reached Ianus through his pondering.

“Not yet. Too much happened yesterday. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to read it, without our omni-tools.”

Nevertheless, Ianus got up to fish under the mattress for the forgotten datapad, switching it on. The harsh, orange glow made him squint, until his eyes had adapted to the light. To their relief, it was formatted in Galactic Standard. While Hierarchy ships operated on turian writing systems, learning Standard had been compulsory at school. It did take Ianus a little time to read it, but at last, he could make it out. It was an escape plan. Not overly detailed, but it described at what time they had to keep themselves ready, how many crew were stationed, and it contained a map on how to get to the freight docks. And finally, the name of the station they were on. 

_ Bethys. _

Ianus had only heard about it in passing. Too small to be interesting to business other than the black and grey markets, though he’d heard of it as a place of transshipment for slavers. Not a good sign.

A rustling from the side made Ianus look up. Acilia.

“What is that?” she asked, rubbing her eye with one knuckle before clambering out from where she had been cornered against the wall. Leucen gave a sleepy grumble when he was jostled, but turned to the other side and burrowed under the tattered blanket when Acilia slipped out from behind him. A pang of envy ran through Ianus at seeing the young man so blissfully unaware of everything happening around him.

He turned to Acilia.

“The batarian datapad. With an escape plan. Not the best, but it should do. Now we only need to somehow let her know we agree to her plan.”

“Oh.” Acilia’s subvocals sang confusion and surprise for a moment before she got herself under control. Ianus knew what she burned to ask but wouldn’t dare. _How come you trust the batarian now?_ The truth was, Ianus didn’t. But Sivan’s words made him reflect on multiple things, and one of them was that maybe he needed to relinquish a little of his control and have faith in others. Ker’s plan wasn’t the best, but it beat being sold to some random batarian, never to be seen again. If they were going to die trying, then so be it, but at least they’d go down free and with their pride intact.

“When she comes back, we’ll have to tell her. Somehow.”

Again, Acilia’s eyes searched Ianus’, and her subvocals derailed for a fraction of a second. _ What about Agent Imperious? _ Acilia’s stance seemed to say. They’d all witnessed Ianus rebuking Leucen’s offer, and hadn’t dared ask him about it since then, but with a plan in grasping distance, this possibility pushed itself back into the focus. 

Ianus ignored Acilia as best as he could. He hadn’t made up his mind about the call, though he knew he would have to reach a decision soon. Their time was running out.


	11. Call for Help

Stepping over his own pride was hard. The talk with Sivan had left Ianus more troubled than expected, and for some reason, those few words had managed to erode a fundamental part of what Ianus believed he had to be, or do. No matter how how much he tried adhering to the image of what he thought he had to _ be _ in order to be a good captain — it was dawning on him they had to grasp every chance of getting out. 

And yet, Ianus found it impossibly hard to act on any of the two suggestions he’d been presented with. 

The batarian, he didn’t trust by nature. Not even if she’d told them she had the whole Hierarchy Navy behind her. Too painful were the memories and his self-imposed rules. Ianus had no doubt her 'plan' was not going to work as smoothly as she thought. And then, Leucen had offered him the help of one of the deadliest people known to Ianus. It was a different kind of reluctance that prevented him from asking for the Blackwatch's help. Agent Imperious was a proud man with the cold efficiency of a sword. No give, no sentiment while he was on his job. Yet, something had apparently managed to soften him, and that was Leucen, a problematic young man entrusted to Ianus’ care he had no idea how to handle. 

Was it hurt pride that had him refuse Leucen’s offer? The realization that where he had failed in establishing a connection of trust with Leucen, Imperious had managed to get through, to that bit inside that Leucen preferred hiding from the world with his stubborn ways? Ianus suspected that hurt most of all.

After a couple hours spent brooding in his corner snarling at anyone who dared interrupt him, Ianus made a decision. It wasn’t beneath him to ask people for help in general, only that his own stubbornness prevented him from asking this _ specific _ person. Ianus tried suppressing the memories of that run-in with Agent Imperious he’d had some time ago, which had been a both exhilarating and frustrating battle of wills. How exactly Imperious had gotten through to Leucen, Ianus didn’t know, but he suspected it was by seducing the insecure young man to adore and trust him. 

Ianus disliked manipulating minds, even more when said mind belonged to someone who worked outside of the Navy’s regulations and only answered to the Primarchs themselves. If it weren’t for the severity of their situation, Ianus would have laughed at the coincidence of their lives being so deeply intertwined, linked through a complete pellet of an ensign. The galaxy was a small place indeed. And yet, grovelling at Agent Imperious’ feet beat getting sold to some batarian warlord in the Terminus systems in any case. For once, even someone as strict as Ianus could get over his principles. He'd done enough damage by letting things slide for so long. He should have taken up Leucen on his offer on the first time.

“Ensign Delius.”

Leucen didn’t look up, though his shoulders tensed for a second when he was addressed. It was the first time Ianus talked to him after he’d made his suggestion.

“I need to send that message. We only have one chance. Set me up. Please.”

Not that Leucen looked convinced, but what choice was there? He switched on his omni-tool and managed to open the com channel after a few attempts, holding his arm out in a way for Ianus to record the vidcall.

Ianus was aware he wasn’t being the most presentable right now, what with the lighter stripes showing where his markings had been stripped, one eye still swollen half shut, and the generally miserable state he was in. Yet while stained with dirt, the red stripe on his field cap and lapel shone brightly, reminding him of who he was. No matter the circumstances, he was Captain Etherian of the Hierarchy Navy Fleet, captain of heavy cruiser _ Invictus_. 

He gave it his best in looking dignified, as was demanded of a Hierarchy Navy officer. No matter how dire the situation he would find himself in, he’d at least keep his pride. Ianus looked up one last time into the faces of his crew who all reflected various stages of hopefulness. Even Leucen, who at usual had the demeanor of a herd animal close to bolting instead of the apex predator he descended from, had a shimmer of hope about his presence. With a nod, Ianus signaled to start the recording.

His voice sounded strangely thin and forlorn in the cold air.

“Agent Imperious, this is Captain Etherian of the Turian Hierarchy Ship _ Invictus_, with Executive Officer Medina and crew members Taranis and Delius. One severely wounded, beginning sepsis. We are being held captive on Bethys station by batarian slavers. This is our only lifeline to the outside world. Do not, I repeat, _ do not _ try to interact with us, we are in peril of life. I have been told you would be able to track us via this omni-tool, and by the spirits, I implore you. We need your help, fast. A batarian promised us assistance. The plan is to make a run in three standard days from now, no specific time. I am not convinced it will work. Contact XO Satine Vaenius on the _ Invictus _ for support, she will assist wherever possible. Etherian, out.”

He would have liked to say more, with all that unrest and that dreaded _hope_ fluttering in his chest, but Ianus preferred to keep the call short. Better not rouse any suspicion by incessant talking. The slavers still had their hacker with them, and who knew if their omni-tools were rigged in any way? Ianus knew he could have been more courteous to someone he was pleading to save him. And yet, he couldn’t help himself. This was Agent Imperious after all. If he came across as coldhearted or distant, then so be it.

“Now, let’s wait,” he said into the empty air, before returning to his corner. Even though he felt his crew’s eyes burning on his carapace, he ignored the way their subvocals turned from hopeful to mildly accusing. Undoubtedly, they had been waiting for some encouraging words, or a speech, or something, but Ianus couldn’t bring himself to addressing them. He was too busy trying to tell himself that he’d done the right thing. Their fate now lay in the hands of a turian assassin and a scrawny batarian. Ianus didn’t like either of them, but what other choice was there?

Behind him, the soft whispers of Acilia talking to Sivan wafted through the air, asking him to tell her anecdotes from his life. His voice tired, the old man complied, gently telling her about the time he’d caught two of the marines in flagranti in the cargo bay, the ranking ceremony where he met his mate Alix, and how proud he was when his daughters got appointed to serve on one of the dreadnoughts. A life well spent, for someone believing in what the Hierarchy constituted. 

Pain stabbed through Ianus, that peculiar pain at realizing one was left without a goal. The helplessness made him shiver, subvocals singing grief. He did so quietly, as not to be heard by anyone. He wouldn’t drag them into the abyss of his own soul. He couldn’t. At one point, Ianus almost thought Leucen’s melody to weave into his own in an attempt to show his support, but when he looked over his shoulder at the young man to verify his suspicion, his eyes darted away, and his song fell silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at that, the cap'n manages to make a good decision for once :D


	12. Interlude: Xeriak 'Imperious' Garros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent Imperious belongs to my fellow partner-in-smut and turian buddy [doragonkage](https://doragonkage.tumblr.com/), who wrote the first draft for this chapter. Thank you so much for writing this guest chapter and letting me use your OC :)

It had been a gruesome two months stalking and hunting down a suspect, and it had occupied all of Xeriak’s time. But in the end, he managed to eliminate his target a few days earlier than anticipated. So Xeriak took a few days off as a way of a well-deserved vacation before returning to base. Even assassins were allowed some time to relax.

The _ Shadow _ was docked at a station near to Terminus space. Xeriak spent his hours resupplying, going through his kit, mending what he had, and, right now, browsing the extranet searching for a present for his goldflake. He did so sitting on a rooftop, his right leg dangling idly over the ledge while he browsed different shopping catalogues. By now, he knew how much Leucen liked getting presents. Xeriak was looking for something small and portable yet useful, even though he didn’t know exactly _ what _ he was searching for, hoping something would catch his eye while he was scrolling through the offered merchandise. It was only a few months ago since he and Leucen had met, at a lousy party, and neither of them ever thought themselves able to fall in love. And yet, they had, despite their differences. Their schedules made meetings difficult, that’s why Xeriak had installed the backdoor channel on Leucen’s omni-tool, so they could keep in touch more effortlessly. Blackwatch agents had access to many tools the Navy didn’t, both soft- and hardware — an advantage he’d exploited more than once in order to keep in contact with Leucen. Xeriak was well aware such a modification went against the regulations, and he knew as well that Leucen would get into big trouble if he said anything. He’d sworn him to secrecy on the matter, and only wrote or called when he could be sure Leucen was alone. It was a secret shared between the two. If the captain ever found out…

Xeriak shuddered for a second when the thought flashed up in his mind. Meeting Captain Etherian had been a both exhilarating and irritating experience, so in the few times their paths had crossed since then, demeanours had been rather frosty.

His mood lightened considerably when a message notification flashed up on his screen, and it was from Leucen! For someone clad in sombre black from head to toe, one would not expect to hear an excited croon when the notification popped up; a sound far too cute for a grown man his size. 

It was hard enough to get his goldflake to write on his own since he was so fearful of getting caught, and Xeriak held his caution in high regard. But the good mood evaporated in an instant; instead of the fair features of his lover he was met with the unmistakably square chin of Captain Etherian.

Xeriak’s brow plates knitted together for a second while his subvocals sang disgust. His first idea was that the captain had somehow found out about the channel and was here to roast him, before his brain processed what his eyes tried telling him.

Something was wrong. _Very wrong_.

The man on screen did look like the captain, and at the same time, like someone completely different. Gone were the haughty airs, the cool, calculating twinkle of steel grey eyes, and the jaw locked in perpetual disdain. What looked at him from the screen was a cheap copy, his usually impeccably clean uniform filthy and rumpled. The skin around his left eye was discoloured into a dark, greenish tan. Three lighter stripes on his face showed where his markings had been stripped. A far cry from the man he knew. 

Xeriak hissed in sympathy. No matter how much he detested Ianus, Leucen’s safety was Xeriak’s top priority. He watched the vid twice, eyes narrowing as he processed each word. His mind set to working. Xeriak wasn’t someone to be fearful — Blackwatch agents that showed fear, or hesitation, didn’t live long. And yet, when it concerned Leucen, he was. He’d always told himself Leucen was safe on the cruiser, out of harm’s way. A navigator didn’t have to go on dangerous missions, and the chance of the _ Invictus _ being attacked was close to zero. A safe Leucen meant a happy Xeriak. But as it seemed, his little goldflake had somehow been sucked into an adventure far too big for him.

With a growl, he swung himself off the ledge and slipped through the busy streets, straight towards his ship. Fingers dancing over his omni-tool, he prepared as much as he could by remote; there was no time to waste at the port. Check for inventory, ammo and most important medical supplies. He’d need them. Xeriak wouldn’t be caught unprepared for anything.

Restocking and tracing the message back to its origin took longer than he would have liked, but eventually he was able to leave the station. Estimated transit time to Bethys was two standard days if he kept going. Barely enough time to formulate a proper plan to free the crew. He checked every available source he could for schematics of the location, where to go, what to prepare for the most important task of his career. Going to rescue his pouty, sassy...terrified and distressed little ensign from the clutches of the scum of the universe. He’d go in guns blazing if he had to, even if Xeriak hoped it wouldn’t get that far. The remark about contacting the _ Invictus _ was ignored for now. Xeriak didn’t know how it came about for the crew to get separated from their ship, but as an agent, he was used to working alone, and he preferred not having the Navy butting in. Whatever had caused the _ Invictus _ to leave, it was better to keep them out of this. Besides, he didn’t have time to squander. Involving Captain Etherian’s ship only meant further delays. No matter he was supposed to return and finish his own mission. Keeping Leucen safe was Xeriak’s first imperative, and nothing could keep him from it.

The part of the Terminus system he was heading to was filled with criminals and gangs. His ship could dock at Bethys if the spirits were willing — credits solved a lot of problems and silenced a lot of questions. Had this been a simple task of retrieving some nobody, Xeriak wouldn’t have twitched a mandible. Such was his daily business, after all. But this time, it took him the entire trip to center himself again, to turn his worry into focus to pull through.

A last check before he got out. Xeriak went over his gear one last time, neatly stashed into an inconspicuous duffle bag. Behind a dark corner, of which there were plenty out here, he donned his armour. His body worked on autopilot, honed from years of training. Pistol, gauntlets, shield generator. All in place. With a last glance over his shoulders, he swung himself up into the rafters to wait.


	13. Goldflake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone :)

By day five, they had almost found a rhythm to their days. Funny, really, how easily one could adapt even to the most dire circumstances, how easy it was to call a place home, no matter how decrepit. Ianus would give as much warmth and comfort to Sivan as he could. He would care for his basic needs, carry him to the sink for a drink, and to the bathroom, made sure his face was clean and free of any crusts or discharge. When Sivan was awake, Ianus entertained his friend with tales of his rambunctious past in the Ground Forces, mostly stories about getting drunk on shore leave and the subsequent one-night stands. It was little solace, and even if Sivan had heard those stories often enough, he did chuckle softly at each and every one of the puns. His idle time, Ianus spent either working out obsessively where he would sometimes be joined by Acilia, or dozing in an attempt to flee reality. Turians didn’t need much sleep, but Ianus forced himself to.

Ker would bring food twice a day, what little there was, without speaking. She didn’t come back to her proposal and never mentioned the datapad again. Either she had her own doubts on whether the plan was going to work out, or she waited for them to decide on what to do of her offer. She kept slipping them the slabs of sugar. Ianus had no idea where she procured the stuff. The only one who attempted to eat them was Sivan, even though it made him gag. Turians weren’t made for processing large amounts of carbohydrates, and yet, like all the other species, they depended on the energy it gave them. The steady rasp of Sivan’s tongue on the rough surface had become a familiar background noise by now.

Ianus touched Sivan’s swollen shin in the morning, and almost shied away at the heat. If he wasn’t going to get help soon, his friend would indeed die far out in the Terminus systems, without the chance of saying goodbye to his mate, his family. For everything they’d done to him, the old man held up well enough. His time fighting at Relay 314 showed; he had spent almost a week without food when logistics to the front became patchy. He never complained.

The little ones had never endured hunger and confinement though. Each time Ker came, Acilia’s eyes grew wide, her subvocals taking up an imploring tinge, not unlike a pet waiting for its food. Ianus didn’t know if the girl even noticed. Young turians needed a lot of energy since they continued growing even after they became adults. It was never enough to eat. Seeing hope die in Acilia’s eyes when she was being given a measly portion was a sad thing to behold. She held up by sheer will, tried upholding her family’s good reputation by staying steadfast in the face of insurmountable odds. Ianus found her perseverance admirable. She busied herself with small tasks, joined Ianus on his workouts on the filthy floor, even wrote down what she could on what remained of her omni-tool, like a patchwork diary, in the hope someone would find it and carry their story towards the stars. But Leucen‘s health, both physical and mental, was deteriorating fast.

Ianus had made a few half-hearted attempts at keeping him occupied by making him recite famous passages from turian classics, but to no avail. It was all Ianus knew by heart given he wasn’t a big reader apart from official reports, but on someone as notoriously rebellious as Leucen, songs about valiant turians upholding the Hierarchy’s values were lost. Most of the time, Leucen sat huddled up against the wall, gaze fixed on the floor. There was a lot of anger in his eyes. They were the only thing of him that still burned. The rest of him had given up.

What worried Ianus the most though was the fact that Leucen had stopped eating at one point. Not even Ianus’ relenting and the subsequent call for help made him change his mind. Ianus tried. He’d been nice, tried persuading Leucen by telling him to eat as not to be a burden on the rest of the crew, tried convincing him with reason -- he’d even threatened him, telling him he was going to stuff that paste down into his crop whether he wanted or not. To no avail. Each time Ianus offered him one of the rations, Leucen turned away with a defiant growl, stubbornly refusing any help.

“Ah don’ deserve it,” was all he’d mumble, as if that mattered in their situation. At one point, Ianus snapped. He reacted in the only way known to him. Intimidation.

Mandibles pinched close to his jaw, his right hand shot out to grab Leucen by the front of his fatigues and slammed him against the wall with full force. Leucen’s hands flew to where Ianus’ fist was bunching his jacket. He gave a strangled squeak, struggling feebly for a moment before hanging limp, pupils dilated, breath shallow.

Behind him, Acilia stood rigid, staring at him unable to move. But neither her subvocal terror nor Leucen’s shock and failure to answer registered with Ianus right now. The last vestiges of control and sanity he’d kept up for so long were threatening to slip from his fingers, giving way to a helplessness that was at the same time numbing and anger-inducing. Never had he been in a situation such as this, and for the first time in his life, Ianus didn’t know what to do. The pain of realizing that there was nothing he could do to better the situation was overwhelming, filling him with a bottomless dread, a dark, yawning abyss sucking him in. Sivan was going to die, and if he couldn’t beat some sense into Leucen…

“You will follow my orders, Ensign Delius!” Ianus roared, his teeth bared while the young man flopped helplessly in his grip. “I am your commanding officer! I will not allow disobedience, no matter where we are, understood?”

“Spirits, Ianus. Stop it.” Sivan‘s voice was low, and even more feeble than usual, but the calm authority had not left him. “Give him space to breathe!”

The words were soft, like a mother’s song before bedtime. Enough to make Ianus snap from his daze. They touched something inside of him, the little part that remembered being on the cruiser‘s bridge, composed, giving orders. This wasn‘t him, right now, a mere husk driven by his own perceived failure. For a second, he tensed, as if someone had struck him. Ianus blinked when reality came rushing back, anchored by Sivan’s voice. His shoulders sagged, mandibles unclenched, and with a half angry, half apologetic growl, he guided Leucen to the floor to sit to catch his breath.

The look Leucen gave Ianus was unmistakable, blue eyes full of hurt and fear. Seeing the captain, with who he had only now started building a hint of a trusting relationship flip at him did not sit well. His eyes darted from Ianus to Acilia to Sivan, subvocals barely more than a submissive whimper, as if he was looking for a safe harbour in a storm.

Sivan sighed. “Leucen, come here. Help me up.”

The young man got up reluctantly, but walked over to where Sivan was curled up on the bed, helped him reach a comfortable position with his legs outstretched.

“Sit in front of me.”

Soft though it was, Sivan’s voice didn’t allow resistance. Ianus knew how much effort it took Sivan to move because of his fever, but he was a proper well-trained serviceman all his life, making Ianus painfully aware of his failure just now.

Leucen’s stance wasn’t easy to read, with him straightening his figure and turning his head to the side in an attempt to look more imposing. It seemed like he wanted to hesitate, but in the end, he let Sivan loop his uninjured leg around his waist, drawing him close.

“You’re in dire need of affection, lad,” Sivan said, as if commenting the weather. No judging, no accusations. Only a concerned father tending to his child.

Ianus knew Leucen had never had a loving family, had never experienced what it meant to be cared for, and loved, in this way. For the first time in his life, someone took the time to preen him, the way a parent would to calm down their chick. It did look a little comical, given they were both the same height. Sivan’s subvocals were exactly those a parent would use to soothe their children.

“Now, tell me about your lover, yes? The one we sent the message to?”

Leucen gave a growl at the question. Given how the captain had reacted to him revealing the private channel to Agent Imperious, and everyone had witnessed the captain flipping at him after saying said agent snuck onto the _Invictus_ for a rendezvous, Leucen was apprehensive to talk. His shoulders squared, and mandibles pinched close to his face. This wasn’t what he had expected. For quite some time, he sat with his arms hugging his shins, chin resting on his knees while Sivan‘s mouth plates worked slowly, forging a soothing rhythm, a parent preening their chick to calm them down.

At one point, Leucen exhaled. His glance darted up for the fraction of a second, met Ianus’.

“He’s tall, like ta cap’n. All muscle, but slimmer,” he said, voice barely more than a soft whisper. “Bright blue eyes. Plates ta most shiny black yah‘ve ever seen. Ah call him Shadow.”

“Mh-hm. A handsome man for sure.” Sivan nibbled on without interruption and without showing discomfort from moving his body, undoubtedly stiff and sore from lying on his side for days.

“He’s an agent, right?”

His tongue stroked along the tense muscles, soothing them, before Sivan continued the soft pinching and massaging, sometimes even going as far as to gently nip with his teeth when he found a particularly tight spot. Each nibble made Leucen tense. Sivan did the left side first before tilting his head and lapping along the gaps in the plating at the back. Bit by bit, Leucen relaxed under the touch, following the genetic instincts of generations.

“Yah. Trainee agent. Fierce if he has ta. Loyal. Passionate.” Here, the young man hesitated, as if he was embarrassed. His voice faltered. “Ah‘m sorry. Ya dun‘ wanna hear me blab, ah‘m jus‘ a dumb fledgling.”

Sivan gave a huff against Leucen’s hide, tightening his grip to hug him tight against his keel for a second. Never mind they weren’t family. Crew was just as important, even more so when one was feeling miserable and beating himself up for something out of his control.

“No you‘re not. He sounds like a good man. Go on, lad,” Sivan prompted before continuing, his hands coming to a rest on the soiled sleeves of Leucen’s uniform jacket. “Where did you meet?”

“Party,” Leucen breathed. He didn’t seem too comfortable with the question, and Sivan halted his motions for a moment, instead rubbing a mandible against the side of Leucen’s neck, as if to reassure him that everything was all right before changing the topic.

“Does he have a pet name for you?”

Leucen’s shoulders sagged, and Ianus almost assumed he wasn’t going to answer. He noticed himself holding his breath, and a quick glance towards Acilia standing near him confirmed that she was just as fascinated by the scene passing in front of their eyes.

“Yah,” Leucen finally said. “He calls me Goldflake...” Again, Leucen hesitated, finding his courage only when Sivan gave a soothing purr of encouragement. “He says ah’m his lil‘ goldflake, because of mah plate colour? He always said ah‘m his precious.”

“And that you undoubtedly are,” Sivan concurred, having made his way to the right side all while rubbing soothing circles along Leucen’s arms.

“Ah hope he’s got ahr message an‘ will come ta help…”

“I‘m sure he will. Give him a little time.”

Sivan preened on all through Leucen’s explanations, his subvocals switching to a reassuring rumble. Both Ianus and Acilia watched in fascination as Sivan used all of his parental calm and authority to entice Leucen out from his mental hiding space.

“Leucen- I know you don’t want to hear this. But you got someone out there who loves you. And he wouldn’t want you to despair, or refuse food, because you believe you have to take this burden alone. The burden is here to be shared, lad. We’re all here together, and we’ll make it.”

With a last lick along Leucen’s neck, Sivan patted his shoulder. “There you go, lad. Freshly preened. Feeling better?”

“Yah.” Leucen looked back up, crossed Ianus’ scrutinizing gaze, and held it for a second. “Thanks, XO. Appreciate it.”

“Call me Sivan. Now, go eat something. Wouldn’t want your lover to find you all emaciated. Acilia?”

When addressed, Acilia snapped to attention, scrambling to fetch one of the rations they’d kept on the side in case Leucen was going to come around. Ianus felt pride at seeing her so prudent. Model ensign down to the tips of her talons. Leucen accepted the pouch of nutrient paste from her with a bob of his head before he walked off to his corner. Nobody disturbed neither him nor Sivan who had flopped back on his side and closed his eyes. His work for today was done.

“Eat slow, don’t want you to hawk it up again,” Ianus called after the retreating figure.

There had been times when Ianus had been softer, more understanding. Even more empathic. But that was decades ago.The pain stabbed through him almost physically while he watched Leucen. What had he lost on his single-minded quest of being the most correct of captains? He wasn‘t sure on how to reach that balanced state again, or if it would even be possible if he tried. His eyes bore into the back of Leucen‘s carapace with a fury.

It all came together somehow. Seeing Leucen, and how the young man struggled with finding his place, both with his crew and as part of a society that didn’t encourage free spirits, made Ianus strangely self-aware. He felt remorse at handling Leucen so roughly. But he had never apologized to anyone, and it didn’t come easy to him, not even when he knew he had been wrong. Concern was all he could push himself to. Leucen didn’t react, but he did eat slowly, and kept it down.


	14. Sign Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Everyone :D

Ker returned in the middle of the night. The way she held herself showed that she knew they wouldn’t understand her. She tried nonetheless. Her words were short, clipped, but her initial zeal died bit by bit when they all stared at her blankly.

“Translators are off,” Ianus said in her direction, not bothering with getting up. There was nothing she could do right now. A hand touched his shoulder, and in reflex, Ianus wanted to brush it away. He looked up with a snarl, only to find himself face to face with Acilia who was staring at him with her eyes wide open, spine rigid. As was demanded of all enlisted personnel when they were talking to their superior officers, she addressed a point just above Ianus’ left shoulder. “S- sorry, captain,” she squeaked, but caught herself quickly. “May I help?”

She had a point, Ianus had to admit. Acilia was a liaison officer through and through, trained in written and spoken communication, and she had been an natural from the start. He’d seen her formulating speeches for high officials, witnessed her interact with generals and praetors, her charm and wit sparkling in the air around her. Ianus had no doubt Acilia was going to follow in her father’s footsteps to become a General — one so good, soldiers would follow them to war without question. Envy bubbling in his chest, Ianus nodded, watched her crossing the distance to Ker. The batarian looked comically small. Instead of standing tall and intimidating as Ianus anticipated, Acilia crouched down to kneel at the batarian’s feet. Ianus didn’t enjoy the sight, but he’d let Acilia take the right course. He could learn from her, he realized, and followed their conversation with interest.

“I do not understand what you say to us, but you can, is that correct?”

Ker blinked two of her eyes at the question before doing a small motion with her hand. Her many fingers did a flourish.

_Yes. _

“Can I ask you a few questions? You need only say yes or no.”

Again, the motion. _ Yes. _

“Can we still count on your help to escape?” Acilia asked.

_ Yes_.

Ianus noticed he’d been holding his breath, and exhaled. He should have acted earlier, taken all the chances they had right after finding out that the _Invictus_ was gone. They’d squandered so much valuable time by not taking proper action, and Ianus hoped with all of his might it wasn’t going to be too late already.

“Do you know if we’re supposed to be moved soon?” Acilia asked.

Another flourish of Ker's alien hands, a complicated interplay of movements. A ‘I’m not sure’? Acilia nodded, rephrased her question.

_ Yes. _

“Tomorrow?”

_ No. _

A shadow flitted over Acilia’s features, but from one moment to the next, she gave a chirp and got up, turning towards the bed where Sivan was dozing. Ianus followed her movements, curious, before groaning under his breath. Of course. The datapad. They could all read Standard. Writing a question and reading the answer was going to be much easier than the guessing game they’d engaged in right now.

Acilia was already typing by the time she got back to Ker. The batarian's eyes kept darting left and right as always. She was clearly feeling unsafe for being here outside of her duty hours, but to Ianus’ surprise, she stayed, instead of darting away at the earliest possibility. Ker took the pad from Acilia with a curt nod of her head, read the questions silently, then turned away to write her answer. The baby had started whimpering under its cover, and Ker kept bobbing up and down to keep the child calm, occasionally giving a click of her tongue to soothe while she typed away.

Ianus caught himself wondering why Ker kept the baby with her in such a dangerous place. Turian chicks were dexterous enough to cling to their parents’ cowls from early on, and when strapped in correctly, they could accompany their parents to work as long as their safety was guaranteed. It was no uncommon sight to have people working in offices or laboratories with a baby’s bald head sticking out of their clothes, cooing in wonder whenever their caregiver did something interesting to them. Often, they’d be vying for attention or some freshly regurgitated food. But apart from salarian tadpoles, Ianus didn’t know of other sentient species whose young could cling to their parents on their own. Batarians didn’t strike Ianus as particularly parental, and he’d never seen one of their children either. Circumstances must have been dire for Ker, to decide and take her baby with her, and having to hide it under her coat all the time. Ianus caught himself before descending into unhealthy pondering. It didn’t matter why the pup was here, as long as it wasn’t going to hinder their escape. That was all that mattered.

When the lights in the corridor flickered to life, Ker whipped around. She thrust the datapad with her half-finished answers at Acilia before darting out, hurrying away as silently as she had come.

“Okay, crew. Tomorrow morning we’ll make our run.” Acilia’s voice sounded a little forlorn as she addressed them, but Ianus noticed her stance, the way she kept her shoulders square and her chin high. She was in her element, as if she were delivering a speech on Memorial Day. Being able to contribute something substantial to this ‘mission’ did make her feel better. Acilia was in charge of making sure their escape plan would work — And Ianus was relieved not everything depended on him.

She explained all she had gained from Ker’s answers in the most detail she could. When she was done, Acilia nodded at Ianus as if to wait for his approval, and only then did she turn to Sivan who had pushed himself to a half-sitting position. The skin around his eyes was shiny with moisture, and Ianus vowed he’d help him clean as soon as possible. He was going to make sure Sivan kept his dignity, no matter how badly he was off.

“XO, can you stand?” Acilia asked. The answer was a tilt of the head, a shrug. Except for the times Ianus carried him to the bathroom, Sivan hadn’t attempted to stand nor walk. By now, Ianus suspected Sivan was getting too feeble to even sit straight by himself.

“We’ll try. Delius, help me.” Acilia’s subvocals thrummed with fierce determination. For once, Leucen didn’t talk back and followed his fellow ensign’s order. Acilia focused on her job was a force of nature. Ianus watched them from his corner as they dragged the old man upright. Sivan groaned, swaying between the two. The leg was clearly not ready to put any kind of pressure on, and the fever had left him too feeble to have proper control over his muscles. Ianus hadn’t expected anything else. The blood poisoning had spread, and it would be a miracle if Sivan was able to move by himself by tomorrow at all. Not the best premise for their escape. Ianus exhaled, a short, irritated huff of air.

“Captain. We won’t be able to move fast,” Acilia observed while she helped Sivan lie back down. Leucen sneered at her obvious remark, but nobody reacted to him. They were all tired.

Sivan sighed when everyone's eyes honed in on him.

“Leave without me.” His voice was calm and controlled, each word clear despite his feebleness. As if he wasn’t right in this moment sealing his own fate. “I’ll hinder your chances of escape. Go. Tell my family I love them.”

His feet took Ianus towards his best friend in two angry steps.

“Oh you will not!” he growled, bending down to stand nose to nose with Sivan. “I will carry you!"

Sivan gave a rueful laugh. “I don’t doubt you could, lad. But even if you make me straddle your hip spur like a little chick, your chances are much better without me.”

Ianus’ mandibles twitched. He wasn’t one to use swear words against his crew, but this particular demonstration of stupidity required an adequate answer. Ianus was strict, and could be a cold tactician, but he was not one to leave any of his crew behind. Especially not Sivan Medina. The _ Invictus _ wasn’t complete without him. Ianus knew he would never be able to forgive himself if he left his XO to die in the Terminus. How could he even face his crew once he was back, explaining to them he abandoned Sivan? No matter High Command had abandoned them, _he_ wasn't going to do that. Ianus stuck out his chin and answered as stiffly as he could, eyes kept straight.

“With all due respect, XO Medina. You’re a pellet for suggesting we’d leave you behind.”

A smile tugged on Sivan’s mandibles, despite the gravity of the situation. He bowed his head, eyes never leaving Ianus‘.

“Understood, my captain.”

Ianus exhaled. “Thank you. XO Medina, I will do everything in my might to get you back. Even if I have to carry you all the way.”

To that, Sivan didn’t answer. His eyes fell close, and he lay back down. Ianus moved to sit as his friend’s side, stroking his neck and mandible until he’d fallen asleep.


	15. Sleepless

Ianus couldn’t sleep. In his head, thoughts whirred, an unending stream of doubt, self-accusations, what-ifs. Had he brought this all onto his crew, onto those who depended on him, because he was too proud, too obstinate? He had underestimated the batarians, or rather, everyone not belonging to the turian Hierarchy, out of simple hubris. From the start, without questioning. Leucen might have been the one who got them all into this mess, but it had been Ianus’ fault in the end. Maybe it was too late for help? Did Imperious even get their message? And the _ Invictus _ wasn’t coming. They had been abandoned by the Hierarchy, as if all their work, the loyalty, the steadfastness wasn’t worth anything. His thoughts kept going back to the moment he stood panting with his tongue out in front of the airlock and the _ Invictus-_shaped hole behind it. Feeling worthless hurt Ianus the most.

For the first time in a long time, Ianus allowed himself to give into his grief. Not the anger he was used to discharging by working out, or, as it happened too often since they were captured, by yelling at his crew. Old-fashioned grief, something he hadn’t let himself experience in years. Strangely liberating. 

A keen, almost inaudible, came loose from deep within his chest, carrying with it all the regrets and frustrations he’d piled up. His instinct was to stop the sentiment, a bout of anger flaring inside him for this show of weakness, but he was too exhausted to stop it. He hadn’t taken his time to properly mourn his squad all those years ago, so maybe, today was as good a day as any, destined to die on an alien station out in the Terminus. He let his melody flow freely, just him, and his sadness, in the darkness on a concrete floor. For once, Ianus didn’t care whether anyone heard him. Tomorrow was their last chance of getting out of this mess, and though he did try to stay strong for the sake of his crew, Ianus wasn’t sure they were going to succeed.

A sound made him open his one good eye. Leucen. Not who Ianus wanted to see after treating him so badly only a day ago, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to send him away.

“Can’t sleep?” Ianus murmured. In the darkness, Leucen nodded, a quick bob of the head, as if he wasn’t sure he should be here.

For a while, they looked at each other, the only thing visible the glint of their eyes in the darkness — until, at one point, the young man inhaled. Ianus thought his courage had left him, but instead of returning to the bed where Acilia was tossing in troubled slumber, Leucen slid onto the makeshift bedding at Ianus’ front, snuggling as close as he could. Ianus was a good foot taller, and almost double as wide, but Leucen did his best to maximize body contact. The gesture was strangely intimate, especially when Leucen threw one leg over Ianus’ thigh, slotting against his body as closely as he could. 

At loss on how to react, Ianus tensed at the display of closeness. He hadn’t exactly been nice to Leucen. He had abused him, verbally and physically, simply because he had been overwhelmed. Not how a respectable captain should have behaved. And yet, despite everything, Leucen had come to him. They spent some time silent, listening to the sound of each other‘s breathing.

“Ah’m sorry, cap’n,” Leucen said after a while, and where at usual, he’d never look at anyone while speaking, Leucen’s bright eyes kept searching Ianus’ face.

“What for?” Ianus tensed at the words. 

Leucen’s mandibles twitched before he answered. His nervous purr vibrated straight into Ianus’ chest. He held it in high regard that Leucen had found the courage to come and talk — after everything he’d subjected the young man to. It was almost a miracle.

“For bein’ such a pain,” Leucen continued. “For not trustin’ ya judgment. Ah realized ya tried protectin’ me all ta time. An’… Ah was too stubborn t’ allow it. Ah’m sorry, cap’n.”

A lot of possible answers flitted through Ianus’ head, all the things he’d wanted to hurl at Leucen for every clash they’d had, for every insult haplessly thrown his way, for every bit of insubordination. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to it. Like a quiet voice inside of him, whispering gently, telling him to let it go. All the anger, the frustration that had built up in the last months, it didn’t matter anymore. For the first time in his life, Ianus truly understood. He needed to step down from his strict course. If not now, then when? If he could never show forgiveness, how could he call himself a captain capable of leading his crew, to make the right decision and make sure they’d prevail, no matter what the universe was going to throw at them?

“You haven’t made my job easy the last few months,” Ianus admitted. “You hurt me with the things you said. I hope you realized that.”

“Yah. Ah know. Ah never had someun’ concerned ‘bout me. ‘S not easy.”

Ianus couldn’t bring himself to word an answer right now. With a grunt, he lifted his aching arms, wrapping them around Leucen as well as he could. Turians didn’t hug. At most, and only if one had the genetic predisposition to do so, they’d nest and burrow together. Hugging was what babies did, clinging to their parents’ cowls, helpless, in need of protection. And yet, it seemed to be the right thing to do. The boy balked at first, undoubtedly reminded of the time Ianus had squashed him against that wall in his cabin, but when all Ianus did was to hold him close, he relaxed, even going so far as to tentatively lick at Ianus’ throat, quick, darting laps that turned into longer strokes when he realized he was safe. The gesture was strangely intimate, sensual even, but Ianus understood it was only Leucen’s attempt at appeasing him.

“You know you don’t have to do this to make me feel better?”

The licking stopped for the fraction of a second, before it was resumed.

“Yah. Bu’ s’ ta only thing ah’m good at.”

Ianus exhaled at the confession, an irritated huff. He didn’t know when Leucen had started his habit of offering himself to make up for his bad behaviour. And yet, apparently the strategy worked often enough to reinforce his belief that sex was a good way to get out of punishments. Ianus had fallen for him as well, instead of realizing Leucen was only a confused young man who felt as insecure about himself as Ianus did right now. They were not as different as Ianus had assumed. 

For a second, he contemplated calling Leucen out on it, telling him that offering one’s body was never the answer to any kind of problem, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Once they made it out, there would be enough chances for a talk, one that was long overdue for Leucen. The talk every responsible parent would carry out with their teenagers, about their own agency, and what their actions ensued. Ianus vowed to himself he’d do it. For now, he let it go.

“Do you think I need to be comforted?”

Leucen hesitated before answering. “Ah heard ya keen. An’ felt bad.” 

His breath was hot against Ianus’ neck. Though awkward, Ianus welcomed the sensation of the little puffs of air washing over his hide whenever Leucen exhaled. He’d gone too long without relying on anyone, couldn’t even remember a time when someone had comforted him. Interesting what a change of perspective, even if under dire circumstances, could do.

“Ah’m scared, cap’n. Of tomorro’. Wha’ll happen?”

“I don’t know.” Ianus admitted. He didn’t want to be talking about tomorrow right now. He wanted to lie here, eyes open, in the stupid assumption time wasn’t going to pass if he only stayed awake. A foolish dream. It felt good though, confiding in someone else. The dread weighing down on Ianus’ shoulders, the imperative that he had to do everything alone, that he had to protect everyone at all costs, had lifted a little. It wasn’t his sole job to save them. Everyone would play their part. They were all in it together, and no matter how tomorrow would go, they would help each other however they could. Time for another confession, maybe.

“You know what, Leucen? I’m scared too.”

Again, the roving tongue stopped, then resumed.

“Oh? Ya always seem so sure, cap’n.”

“Do you believe I’m never scared? Let me tell you a secret.”

Ianus loosened his embrace to look down at Leucen, perfectly nestled against him. He let his eyes roam over Leucen’s face, the smooth golden sheen of his plates, those bright eyes that were clouded with fear. Ianus couldn’t put a finger on that feeling of warmth spreading through him, the pride surfacing at seeing Leucen like this. They’d both grown in these few days, in ways Ianus would not have thought possible.

“I’m scared every waking hour. For the safety of my crew. I worry whether a decision is right or wrong, whether that’s the course we should take. I stand on the _ Invictus’ _ bridge, and I’m afraid. I’m strict with my crew because I want you to succeed, and I won’t forgive myself if you didn’t.” 

Ianus exhaled to rub foreheads, only a whisper of a touch, passing in a second. 

“That’s a captain’s lot, whether in the safety of his ship, or on the floor of some spirits forsaken batarian station. But no matter how afraid I am, I will protect my crew, you can be sure of that.”

“Thank ya, cap’n.”

They fell back into comfortable silence. Leucen’s moist breath kept washing over Ianus’ throat, ephemeral puffs of air that meant the world right now.

None of them looked up when Acilia came to join them. She gave Ianus a short salute before nestling against Leucen’s back, burying her face in his cowl without a word. Her subvocal melody melted into theirs. It was one Ianus hadn’t heard in ages, one he wasn’t used to, but it carried one meaning, one he hadn’t thought about before. 

_ Family_.

* * *

None of them slept much that night. Ianus was troubled by diffuse dreams and flashbacks. The faces of his squadmates loomed, were blown as if by an invisible wind, away in the breeze. When he woke, the little ones were still snuggled against him, Leucen bunching Ianus’ lapel in his fist, Acilia rolled up against Leucen’s back, her face buried in the nape of his neck, the top of her head pressed against the underside of his fringe. It was a heartwarming image to see the two who had been enemies at first find enough closeness — weren’t it for the gravity of what loomed before them.

With a groan, Ianus brushed Leucen’s hand aside, making the young man give a drowsy growl of protest when his heat source was taken away. Ianus was easily the fittest and most muscular of all of them, but he wasn’t getting younger, and the strain of the last days was making itself known. He hurt all over, the fatigue had settled in his bones. Muscles twinged at each movement, heavy, like a drained battery. No matter how much he worked out, nothing could prepare for this kind of strain.

Rolling his shoulders in a futile attempt of getting some knots out, Ianus walked over to where Sivan lay curled up on his side. His breath was shallow, and Ianus stifled a curse when he tested Sivan’s temperature by pressing two fingers under his chin. The fever had spread during the night. The way Sivan breathed, he was in pain.

“Hey old man, ready for the big day?” Ianus asked, his voice unusually soft. Truth be told, Ianus wasn’t sure how long Sivan was going to make it at this rate, but he could at least try and keep their spirits up with a little joke. Whereas before, he’d been so full of anger and resentment he had been incapable of thinking along different lines, the future was clear all of a sudden, an unobstructed path. All he could do was to follow it as well as he could, trying to let the past rest and instead focus on those with him. They depended on him. Not that Ianus was happy about the situation they were in, and yet, he found himself free of so many of the blockages he’d built for himself. It had taken a few days and an unruly ensign to break him free from more than a decade of regret and self-imposed rules, simply because he had been too stubborn to account for the past.

Sivan stirred and pressed against the hand stroking his forehead, like an oversized cat leaning into a caress. “Been better,” he rasped, “I promise I won’t be too much of a drag.”

“You won‘t. I’ll carry you, if it’s the last thing I’ll do.”

“Thanks, lad. It’s been an honour serving under you.”

“And it’s been an honour to have you by my side. The _ Invictus _ wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Ianus sat caressing Sivan’s forehead and neck for some time silently, lost in his thoughts, until a yawned purr from the floor made him look up.

“Well then,” Ianus said quietly into the empty room. “Let’s wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....finally some much-needed bonding ;)


	16. Escape

When Ker came to get them, it was still before daylight cycle began. They set out into the corridor, the flickering overhead putting Ianus into an uneasy mood. Sivan was pressed against his chest, his body so hot Ianus could feel it through his uniform jacket. He was the only one whose hands were unbound. He’d yelled at Ker when she had signed them to hold out their wrists so she could handcuff them, and only thanks to Acilia’s mediating he realized it was a way of keeping up their show should they come across any of the patrols. The handcuffs weren’t locked in any case. Behind them, Acilia and Leucen padded along as silently as they could. Both tried acting courageous, but it would take them some more time to master their subvocal melodies perfectly enough to fool those more skillful around them. Ianus felt reminded of his own fledgling days learning to handle both of his voices.

An unfamiliar feeling of pride started spreading through him when he saw them act so brave. They’d both come a long way from when they had been assigned to his crew. One so full of herself, chest puffed out at knowing she’d achieve well in a system she’d been groomed to follow all her life, the other a troubling mixture of defiance and sassiness, quick to lash out and just as quick to retreat. 

Ker was last, pistol pointed forwards, her baby as always strapped to her back underneath her patchwork coat. Ianus found himself wondering again why she hid the kid, or why she kept it with her at all. Ianus had never bothered in xenostudies apart from the required lessons and in-service training he’d been forced to attend in order to allow for successful inter-species communications, so he didn’t know about batarian customs. Not that he cared either.

True to Ker’s word, they didn’t come across any patrols. From afar, he could hear the bustle of the main transport area, where business was happening as usual, unaware of the shady business deals happening in the lower parts of the station.

In wise foresight, Ker had taught them the batarian words for ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘stop’, and ‘run’, should anything happen. Not far now. They were almost down to the freight docks where Ker had told them a friend was waiting for them. Ianus hoped she’d never have to use those commands, but after another ‘left’, Ianus found himself face to face with a brawny batarian who rose from his desk with his teeth bared. “What are you doing here?” he growled after the first surprise.

Ker called her ‘stop’ and rounded them, lowered her pistol at seeing the armoured mercenary. Whereas only a few days ago, she’d been skulking around the corners of the group, now she puffed herself up as much as she could. Seeing her mirror other batarians’ body language was interesting.

She gestured to Sivan huddled limp in Ianus’ embrace.

“This one needs medical help. Khafin doesn’t want her goods damaged. We don’t have a medic for dextro species. I’m bringing them back to Emarr station for a check.”

“And why are you escorting them, slave?”

Ianus saw Ker tense, only for a second, before she straightened herself again. One of her hands flew to her back, patting the baby that had started stirring.

“I am in charge of them. They’re to stay in a group. Khafin will be displeased if you hinder me. She doesn’t like having her orders questioned, you should know that.”

“Do what you want, but I’ll ask back.”

He made to power up his omni-tool, but Ker smacked his hand away. For someone so insecure, she could show her teeth if she wanted. Ianus still didn’t like her, but he could appreciate her behaviour, even if it was only in show.

“She hates people interrupting her business for something so trivial! You remember what she did to Agren when he called her while she was asleep. Trust me.”

Ianus watched the debate with fascination. Though he couldn’t understand the words, their body language was enough. When the man had gone, maybe in search of the office, Ker turned to them, giving them a short command to keep going. She said something else to them too, something that, at least to Ianus, didn’t sound too reassuring, but since they didn’t understand, she only gave Ianus a gentle shove to his elbow that he interpreted as them having to make haste. They filed past the empty desk one by one, onto the main freight dock. Compared to bigger stations, this one was pitifully small, only one ramp with random crates and cargo containers strewn here and there waiting for pickup, and eight docking bays for small ships or shuttles. The place was deserted except for a few deckhands hauling produce who gave them cursory glances before ducking back into the airlocks. Nobody meddled with slavers’ business.

Hope bloomed in Ianus’ chest with each step they took. Last to the right. That was what Ker had indicated to them. She had a contact here, someone who had promised to help her --

The airlock was closed. All they could see behind the scratched window was the vast emptiness of space, stars twinkling in a cheery way, as if to taunt them.

_ Not again_. Fear, chilly and numbing, spread through Ianus, made the back of his neck prickle. Behind him, Acilia broke into a frustrated wail when realization hit. Nobody would get them out.

Shouting down the hall.

“Hide!”

Ker’s barked command beside his shoulder. Ianus didn’t need to understand the words. His legs worked on their own accord, kicking off the floor, breaking into a sprint. Out here in the open, they were easy targets. They had to reach the cargo containers, even if it meant returning towards their attackers. Acilia and Leucen wrenched their wrists free from the handcuffs, dashing past him, propelled by pure fear. They managed two steps before slugs started zipping past them. The dock workers scattered, dropping their crates where they stood, and retiring to the relative safety of the ships they’d been unloading.

“Behind that crate, now!” Ianus commanded, throwing himself sideways. The landing hurt like the blazes, the way he twisted to shield Sivan from the impact. The old man hit him like a sack of produce, knocking the air from his lungs. Ianus’ sight went dark for a moment while he gasped for breath. His ears rang. As if from far away, he heard Ker, Acilia and Leucen scramble for cover, subvocals a cacophony of horror.

“Spirits!” Hope had given way to rage, boiling white hot. He clenched his teeth in an attempt to catch his wits, fought against the urge to give in to the anger churning inside him. His hands raked the floor, looking for an outlet to his anger, found Ker’s wrist.

With a snarl, he wrenched her up from where she lay on her side, until they were nose to nose. Ianus saw himself reflected in her eyes, saw himself four times, with teeth bared and his field cap askew. Like an avatar of old times smiting an unbeliever.

“You promised us the way was clear,” he roared. “Was that your idea? To betray us?”

She struggled in Ianus’ grip, gasping for breath. “No! Not my fault!” Her voice was barely more than a whimper, the meaning of her words lost to him. Overcome with his mixture of rage and despair he flung her down onto the floor, giving her barely enough time to twist herself to the side as not to injure her child.

“Captain, what should we do,” Acilia whined. Her voice was almost inaudible over the noise.

A growl broke from Ianus’ throat. “Pray to the spirits!” 

He flinched when two more rounds impacted on the crate. Splinters ricocheted on floor and walls, their sharp plink resounding painfully in his head. How long their cover would hold, and how quickly their captors would advance on their position, Ianus didn’t know. There wasn’t enough time to formulate an escape plan either.

His eyes fell on the weapon shaking in Ker’s hand. 

“Acilia, take the pistol!” Ianus roared over the din. He didn’t trust Ker to hold it — the batarian was but a whimpering pile of misery at his feet. Light returned in Acilia’s eyes when she was given a task. Ianus didn’t have the heart to tell her that he counted on her to shoot them should all hope of escape become void. There was an unspoken rule among Hierarchy personnel, one from long ago, that wasn’t implemented often anymore — going down fighting and choosing death by their own hand was more honourable than being sold into slavery. Nobody had gone that far, not even at Relay 314. Sivan was living proof; he and his squad had preferred a week of captivity. Ianus didn’t know whether Acilia knew of the implication of her being handed the gun in a hopeless situation.

“Quick. Cover fire.”

The girl took the weapon with a nod of the head. Her insecurity shone through in the falter of her subvocals each time a slug buried in the container, the boom of the impacts thundering through the cargo bay. The pistol was a batarian build, a little too small to use for turian hands, but Acilia managed to cock it correctly. Basic functions were the same all through the galaxy. Ianus knew she had no proper chance at shooting except for some random, blind crossfire, but it kept her occupied, and slowed down their enemies. She had been assigned to protect them, which was more than Ianus could do right now.

Heartbeat thumping in his head, eyes darting here and there searching for a way out, Ianus scrambled to come up with a plan. Beside him, Sivan was leaning against the crate where Ianus had thrown him down. He was panting with his tongue out, subvocals freely showing his pain. Ianus reached over to squeeze the old man’s arm, an attempt at rooting himself. Anything to focus. The fabric of the uniform jacket was rough under his fingertips. On his other side, Leucen was curled up in fetal position hyperventilating, eyes unfocused. Each time a slug impacted on the increasingly brittle hull of the crate, he’d whine, a sharp little sound sending shivers down Ianus’ spine. _ The sound of failure_. For all Ianus realized, Leucen’s mind wasn’t here anymore. He had given up, gone to somewhere else, hopefully more peaceful. 

So this was where they were going to die. Not with a bang as he always hoped, while upholding the values of a Hierarchy he had supported all his life, but with as little as a sigh on a random station in the Terminus, and nobody would ever go search for them, or ask about them.

His mouth dry, Ianus exhaled, tried to find a little bit of peace as the noise faded into the background. _ This was it. _

Fire from a gun, aimed at a place somewhere to their left. Shouts. Reality rushed back. Immediate. Demanding.

Ianus took it as an irregularity, as a simple stutter in their foes’ steady advance. Reinforcements joining in on the hunt, alerted by the noise. Only when he realized the distinct sound of turian weaponry, he stopped his train of thought. Ianus would recognize the sound of a Predator pistol anywhere. It wasn’t a weapon favoured by slavers. 

_ But who? _

Hope, or whatever stubborn emotion had survived their ordeal, flickered to life in his chest. 

_ Could it be..? _

Around him, nobody seemed to have noticed, everyone too deep in their own misery. Ianus strained to make out more, to filter information through the din. The urge to stick his head out around the crate to assess the situation was strong, but he forced himself to stay put, relying on his ears picking up whatever they could.

Unbeknownst to them, a shadow had dropped from the ceiling. It had waited for hours in the rafters, patiently formulating a plan. Clothes pitch black, so matte they absorbed the light, the figure dropped down in between the startled batarians. The only light were the reflections glinting off its helmet visor and the edge of the blade raised to slash at the two mercenaries closest. They had no time to react. Blood sprayed across the floor, splattered red against the crate Ianus and his crew were hiding behind.

The newcomer was a pro at this game, a sight to behold while he fought. Shields glowed on impact, like flashing strobe lights, black coat flaring out as he twirled, parrying attacks left and right. A dancer in a choreographed fight scene. Feet skipped over the debris, over a floor growing increasingly slippery with blood. Blade and pistol took on one foe after another, tirelessly, every move perfectly executed. 

Behind the crate, Ianus sat with his temple pressed against the cool metal, trying to discern any changes in the noise. The gurgling of dying men and the wailing of the wounded was almost drowned out over the din. If only —

As quickly as the fight began, it ended. An eerie silence set over the corridor. Ianus’ breath came in shallow bursts. He’d tried to make out what exactly had happened, or who had won the upper hand, but he was too agitated to process any rational train of thought.

Footsteps approached. They were light, not the heavy boots mercenaries favoured with their armour. Not a batarian, then. Ianus’ eyes crossed Acilia’s, who tilted her head. She was still holding on to the pistol, shaking in her hands. 

“Give me the weapon, please,” Ianus ordered her. His throat was dry, and he needed two attempts before any words came out. “I’ll see what happened. You’re in charge until I come back,” he croaked.

He didn’t want to say _ if_, though he’d implied it in the way his subvocals took on a more doubtful tinge. No energy left to appear fearless. Too petrified to move otherwise, Acilia gave a curt nod while handing over the gun. _ Now or never. _ Ianus steeled himself against whatever was waiting for him on the other side of the crate.

A voice, resounding with authority, filled the room, carried over the crackle of burst power lines and groaning metal.

“Captain Etherian, where is my goldflake?”

The words hit Ianus with immediacy. His breath caught in his throat._ He knew that voice. _ Their call had been answered. Unable to decide whether he should get up or sag down in relief, Ianus swayed. His legs threatened to give way under him. He braced himself against the crate, welcoming the coolness of the metal permeating his uniform, grasping for the sensation of cold as if it was a lifebelt. So that was what it felt like, being freed, even if the person coming towards him was not who he had wanted to see.

“Agent Imperious!” Ianus called over. “Good to see you.”

The figure didn’t react to the teasing call. Instead, it wiped its blade clean and prodded one of the twitching batarians with the tip of a boot. The polished Y-shaped visor didn’t give away any emotion.

“Where is he?” he called out again, this time more demanding, a shadow silhouetted against the overhead lights. Though filtered through the helmet, his voice vibrated with an innate authority that rivaled Ianus’. There was no compassion in it, only the demand. Here was someone on a mission, someone who wouldn’t allow any dissent.

A strangled squeak left Leucen, curled up at Acilia’s side with his eyes squeezed shut, his keen a quiet background noise. He didn’t struggle when strong arms lifted him up and pressed him against an armoured chest. While those who could scrambled onto their feet, Leucen latched onto his shadow, as if to never let him go. His hands clutched at the smooth leather of his breastplate in an attempt to align his disassociated mind and soul.

“Get the old man,” Imperious ordered with only a sidewards glance at Ianus while he straightened himself. Too tired and too relieved to be caring about being addressed correctly, the captain didn’t bridle against the order. He scooped Sivan up, slung him over the shoulder with only a grunt of discomfort from his protesting muscles. There was no other way. They didn't have the luxury of time.

Acilia took back the pistol from him, standing in attention, holding on to the last tattered shreds of her self-control.

“We need to hurry. What about that one?” Imperious’ voice was impassive while he contemplated Ker cowering before him, clutching her baby to her chest. She hadn’t moved from where Ianus had thrown her down, and disgust spread in Ianus' mouth at realizing her frailty. _ Pathetic_. They would have never made it without the agent’s help. _ Never. _Memories rose in him like phantoms, a bitter ball threatening to suffocate the hope beating warm within his chest. lanus’ eyes flashed. 

“Leave her.”

“No! Please!” Ker recoiled as if she’d been struck. Tears welled from her eyes, dotting her patched tunic. “You promised! You promised!”

Ianus’ jaw tightened while he listened to her incoherent rambling. In front of his eyes, images flashed, of his squad dying, one after the other, of teeth bared in an attempt to deflect the inevitable. They had died for nothing, at the hand of a bunch of slavers from a race so vile and so far estranged from the values the Hierarchy held up. No honour, no pride. His squad had died far away from their home and values. _ For nothing. _ Why should he show compassion towards someone who had dishonesty woven into their very essence, into their soul? 

And yet…

He balled his fists, teeth clenched, unable to look anyone in the eye. Acilia reached out to place her hand on Ianus’ arm, but he swatted it away with a snarl. He didn’t need any pity, or assistance.

Something cold and solid pressed against his shoulder, permeated the tattered fabric of his jacket. 

“Could this be yours, perchance?” Imperious‘ noncommitted purr cut through the fog clouding Ianus‘ mind. He turned to glance down, only to see the well-known sheen of his sidearm‘s barrel. He’d recognize the dark gunmetal hue anywhere. The feeling of relief and awe rushing through him was hard to describe, and the only sound leaving Ianus was an embarrassingly cute chirp, the same little kids would give when confronted with a juicy treat.

“Where-” was all he said, staring up at the masked figure towering over him. 

“Took it from one of these batarians. Figured they don’t use custom build Armax Arsenal pistols. It was a hunch.”

Ianus‘ finger curled around the trigger, welcoming the familiar touch. The barrel swung around to point at Ker, who was quivering, rocking back and forth as sheer terror overwhelmed her. Ianus observed her with his subvocals carefully flat. The gripstock molded perfectly against the palm of his hand. It would be easy, only a twitch of the finger, the illusion of finally avenging his squad, of venting his frustrations in one bang… and yet. 

_ And yet_. 

Hating batarians, the faceless threat, was easy, even more so after years of avoiding his trauma. It had blown out of proportion due to his neglect to address the problem. Knowing he‘d end the life of someone who had, despite her own lack of power and fighting prowess, done all she could to free them was much harder. With a snarl, Ianus lowered his pistol, a stiff motion, as if he had to battle his own muscles.

“Acilia, take her in custody,” was all he growled before hoisting Sivan and stalking after Imperious. He didn’t want to look anyone in the eyes now. Ianus felt like a traitor, but there was a tiny part of him that would not have let him leave Ker behind. Batarian or not, without her, they wouldn’t have made it.


	17. Heart to Heart (2)

Scrubbing their omni-tools took less time than Ianus had expected. Once hooked into the _ Shadow_’s computer, the system made sure to set their omnis back to their default setting. Ianus realized with a pang of jealousy the Black Watch had been given far more advanced tools than what the regular navy had to work with. As if ship crews were worth less, as if their loyalty counted less.

The messages had started pouring in as well, as soon as their e-mail folders had been cleared; a stream of increasingly desperate messages, from General Taranis, some of his officers, even one from his mother. But most were by Satine Vaenius, and reading them broke Ianus’ heart. From the first casual inquiry requesting a status update after the feed was cut, to those increasingly frantic follow-ups, and culminating in her telling him High Command had denied her any support and ordered her to stick to the _ Invictus_’ original schedule. Satine was a commendable officer, through and through. She would follow orders no matter what, believing in the greater mission, the higher ideal put forward by the Hierarchy. And yet, her helplessness, her disbelief when she’d been ordered back home, forced to desert her commanding officers, had shaken her. While she’d ordered the captainless ship back to Palaven, she’d written uncountable messages into the void, not knowing whether they’d ever be answered — Her way of dealing with the loss.

Hearing Acilia calling her parents was another disturbing experience. After the first bout of joy at knowing their daughter was alive, Acilia had dared asking why the _ Invictus _had been ordered back and why her father didn‘t use his influence to do something. The discussion had escalated when Aizen had tried defending the decision with an improvised speech about the importance of missions and people, cost and effectiveness. Ianus had never seen Acilia flip at anyone, and it had been unsettling to witness her yelling at a decorated general, even if it was her father. She’d never spoken up to anyone before. But Ianus wasn‘t the only one changed by their captivity. Sometimes, one had to learn to speak for themselves instead of blindly accepting orders. Like ripples in the water anticipating a storm, people had been touched, in more than one way. Once they were reunited with their ship, Ianus would have to make a few careful inquiries, and, most likely, ask a few unpleasant questions to people in higher tiers.

Just as hard as overhearing Acilia screaming her frustration at her father was it to witness Leucen and Imperious being reunited. The _ Shadow _ was a small ship, and it was near impossible to evade each other. Ianus had been pacing the hold when he came upon the two, talking in hushed voices in an alcove. While he was pretty sure they knew he was there, Ianus flattened himself against the cold bulkhead to observe them in secret. He hoped to find anything that would cement his suspicion of Imperious only using Leucen for his dark schemes. Even the tiniest hint of the agent not returning the little one’s affection would have been enough to incriminate him in Ianus’ eye. To his growing frustration, that wasn’t the case. 

Their combined subvocal melody of adoration and relief had been almost overwhelmingly tender to Ianus who was used to keeping his own as flat as possible. There was no doubt. Sivan had been right. How Leucen had pressed himself against his lover, in an almost starved way, and how Imperious had answered each desperate headbutt and nip to his neck with soothing licks here and there made it overly clear. They were both lovestruck, and while Ianus still condemned the agent’s actions, he found himself unable to hold on to his grudge as tightly as before.

His breathing flat and quiet as not to disturb the two, Ianus resumed his pacing.

* * *

In the foldaway hammocks at the back, Acilia, Leucen and Sivan were sleeping the exhausted sleep of those whose bodies finally realized they were out of danger. A deep, dreamless slumber, unbroken by the usual purrs or sighs. They had a lot to account for. 

Sivan’s leg had been splinted by Ianus and Imperious in the ship’s small sickbay. They worked side by side, only exchanging the minimal amount of words needed to finish their task. The makeshift splint and a heavy dose of antibiotics would have to suffice to keep infections at bay until they could get him into more professional hands. Even Ker, who wasn’t accustomed to sleeping in turian beds, was sleeping, her daughter snuggled against her jowls, though she jerked far more than the others.

Unable to find rest, Ianus wandered the ship, from the hold to the escape pod, weaving through the crew quarters and medbay. There and back, a moment of contemplation, and repeat. He took another long steam shower sitting on the smooth floor while droplets of steam rolled off his carapace, simply for the sheer joy of being able to clean himself, but even that novelty wore off quickly. As small as the _ Shadow _ was, his steps took him towards the bridge more easily than he’d wanted. 

He found Imperious in the pilot’s seat, staring out at the streaks of jump space. Still like a statue, as if meditating. Despite the disapproval making itself known in his gizzard, Ianus pulled himself together.

“Permission to sit down?”

When no answer came, Ianus moved to the agent’s side, perching himself on the navigation console. Silence took hold of the bridge while the two men pointedly stared past each other.

“How’s my Goldflake doing,” Imperious finally asked. He gave away nothing. His voice was steady as ever, though Ianus could detect a certain weariness in it. The tension and strain of a fight, of having to protect those one loved, wouldn’t pass even the most well trained agent without signs of wear.

“Sleeping. I would prefer you didn’t call him Goldflake.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Ianus looked up, his eyes boring into Imperous’ forehead plates.

“It is my decision as long as I am his commanding officer,” he snarled. The nerve! “You’ve broken rules, Agent Imperious. Installed a private channel on his omni. Sneaked onto my cruiser, manipulated the video feed. Leucen told me everything. You alienated my ensign from his duties, endangered his life! I have half a mind to report you to High Command. Even you have to answer to the primarchs. Let them handle your impertinence!”

“Hm.” For the first time since he’d been spoken to, Imperious moved to fix his gaze on Ianus. 

There was no denial in his eyes, but neither was there any kind of compassion, or give. 

“That might be so.” Imperious’ voice was carefully neutral. “And yet, you are all here now, safe, instead of being hauled off to who knows where when our precious Hierarchy decided to leave you all to your fate. There are instances when not adhering to every last rule can be beneficial. Consider that.”

When Ianus failed to answer, Imperious inhaled and continued. He held his shoulders relaxed. The only way to recognize any kind of threat in his body language was the way he held his mandibles lowered slightly. A sliver of teeth shone white between the black of his plates, a reminder not to take things too far. 

“You know me, what I can do. Your omnis are scrubbed clean, back to their default settings. You will never be able to pin anything on me. Neither that channel, nor can you prove that I have ever been on your ship. Hold your grudge against me as long as you want, Captain Etherian. It’s the truth. And no matter what you do, nothing will change my feelings for Leucen. I know why you’re acting protective. But he’s mine.”

Ianus held the stare. Between them, the wall of mistrust and underlying hate stretched on. No, he wouldn’t forgive this man, not in a million years, not if he decided to become a saint. Who did Imperious think he was, after estranging a fledgling ensign from him, to blackmail him to keep quiet about an infringement of this scope? An agent of the Hierarchy, the same kind of instrument as he was himself. They fought for the same goal, under the same banner, breathed the same air, the same ideology. And yet… there was a reason Ianus mistrusted the Blackwatch, the secrecy with which they pursued the business nobody would dare mention. Ianus felt it deep inside, a spark of fear, different from what he’d felt during their confinement. It was the fear of losing those he kept dear to his heart, those who had, against his will, burned themselves into his soul, those he knew he would protect to his last breath, until the sky would fall.

Shifting his weight in an attempt to get some of his dissatisfaction out, Ianus gave a curt nod.

“You won for now, but I won’t give him up. Not without a fight.”

Imperious’ gaze was surprisingly soft while he inclined his head, mirroring Ianus’ action.

“I know. And that’s why I trust you to take care of my goldflake. I might not like you, but he is in good hands under your guidance. At least until his service is finished. At which point you won’t be able to keep me from whisking him away.”

Ianus closed his eyes, leaning back against the cool metal of the console. Weariness started creeping up through his body, leaden, luring him to sleep. Though all of him was screaming that Imperious had overstepped every possible boundary, that he was undermining his authority, Ianus couldn't find the energy, nor the need, to oppose him. He needed rest. It would be another day’s travel from Hierarchy space, and from rejoining the _ Invictus_. Ianus could allow himself some time to wind down, before being reunited with his ship, and before having to deal with a few unpleasant inquiries in higher places. For now, this conversation would stay between them, as if it never happened. He knew he could count on the others to keep the secret as well- none of them were keen on being accused of knowing of such a security breach. 

With a nod towards Imperious, who had continued staring out at the vast emptiness of space sprawling before them as if their conversation had never happened, Ianus made a return to the hold to resume his pacing. But he stopped at the lock to the cockpit.

“Thank you.”

The nod back was almost too faint to pick up.

“I’m here to serve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the Captain's journey is almost over! Hope you all liked it so far? Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you :)


	18. Let the Past Rest

The cruiser _ Talos _ loomed in front of the virtual porthole, growing steadily bigger as they approached. Ianus watched the ship on screen with mixed feelings. Although his logical brain told him this was the right choice as Sivan needed immediate medical attention, he was eager to rejoin the _ Invictus._ When Imperious told him they weren’t going straight for Palaven, Ianus had pouted for an hour. No matter how often it happened, he wasn’t used to others deciding for him, or denying him his demands. It made him feel helpless. But the spirits knew they could all benefit from a little downtime after what they had gone through.

Acilia and Leucen had not returned to their usual selves yet, too shaken were both of them at realizing how different life could be from the one they spent on the cruiser, shielded from harm. No matter how many disaster drills and simulations they’d gone through under Ianus' supervision, the week in the slavers’ hands shook them to the bone, and it would take more than a day off to restore their peace of mind. Ianus vowed he‘d have a good talk with them, and to have them speak to the board psychiatrist, too. No matter that he himself had let those opportunities of finding peace go by unused because of his own pride. None of his ensigns should be dragging around such bitterness for years.

“We’ll be there soon.” Imperious’ voice jerked Ianus from his pondering while he was composing a message to Satine Vaenius, telling her to keep Ensign Anthas out of trouble until his return. Right now, he didn’t trust High Command to take care of his crew, no matter how thoughtlessly they had acted.

He turned back to nod at the agent standing in the door to the hold, Leucen nestled against his body like a shy animal in need of cover. The agent hadn’t left Leucen’s side during transit time, like a true shadow, quick to pick up on the young man’s mood swings or needs, subvocals a low, steady purr of calm. The closeness between them made Ianus uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” he growled in a quick acknowledgment before turning back to stare out at the vast black emptiness of space streaking by. They found a tentative arrangement, namely that they tried getting out of each other’s ways despite the cramped living conditions on the _ Shadow_. If Ianus was in the hold, Imperious would stay in the cockpit, and vice versa. The corvette wasn’t made for a big crew and only housed some basic weaponry. Hierarchy agents usually worked alone, and the six of them strained the ship’s capacity for privacy. How different from the _ Invictus _ with its crew of 450, where everyone had their cabin, shielding them from the bustle of around the clock duty. You couldn’t walk down a corridor not even during night cycle without bumping into someone! Ianus wasn’t an overly sociable person, but he missed greeting his crew while he strolled down the corridors. He took great pride in knowing everyone’s name by heart, no matter how insignificant their role on the ship. Not long now.

Ianus inhaled deeply in an attempt to breathe his uneasiness away. He’d checked the official records just to see what kind of ship the _ Talos _ was, and hadn’t been surprised to read that it was a new cruiser, funded privately by a wealthy family to contribute to the cause. Of course, it was up to High Command to decide on what missions the _ Talos _ was to be deployed, they had full control, and yet… Ships were supposed to be the property of the Turian Hierarchy, lent to captains and their teams for as long as needed. Ships belonging to private people, and them deciding who got to commandeer it… Those were more shadowy dealings Ianus wouldn’t approve of. It was unsettling. But the notion that they had a sparkling new medbay and a top-notch medical officer made the bitterness a little easier to bear. Ianus looked forward to a full check-up, only so he could hear for himself that he was doing well. And it was important that Sivan got a blood transfusion to make sure the inflammation was dealt with. 

Docking and boarding was a blur. Imperious had alerted the _ Talos _ of their arrival and made sure a first aid team was waiting for them at the airlock. Ianus wasn’t allowed into the medbay. All he could do was to watch while one of the personnel held him back and two others were busy connecting Sivan to a plethora of different monitors and devices. The doctor, a huge piece of turian taller than himself with plates so black they appeared blue in the light, had given Ianus the ‘don’t even think about it’ stare before pointedly pushing the button to close the door in his face.

It took three hours to get Sivan stable and to splint his leg properly. Ianus spent the time waiting by checking out the ship and taking a long steam shower. Sitting in between the gently swirling plumes of mist settling on his plates, obscured from everyone’s prying views, he finally had time for himself. Time to grieve, time to think about everything that happened, about ways on how to get out of this mess. There were so many questions he wanted to ask to General Taranis and other higher ups. Much higher up. 

They’d been left to die, but they had returned, like some heroes from tales long past. Almost comical. Ianus knew in his gut this wasn’t going to be easy. After everything they’d gone through, they could still not relax, and that was what afflicted him the most. All he wanted was to get back to his ship, to resume command, and act as if nothing had happened. Wishful thinking. His faith in the Hierarchy had been severely damaged, and Ianus didn’t know if he’d ever heal from that particular wound. Going back to the _ Invictus_, that was going to be the anchor he needed.

The beep of his omni-tool alerted him of Sivan’s condition while Ianus tried getting into the undershirt he’d been given while his own uniform was being cleaned. The shirt was a little small, and he was struggling with getting his head through the neckhole. 

The message was a curt note, fitting the behaviour of the _Talos_’ medical officer.

_ Medina is stable. You can visit now. Twelve minutes. _

_ Thank you spirits. _ Ianus exhaled, and headed out to see his friend.

Ianus didn’t particularly like medbays, the scent of disinfectant and the beeping and purring of different medical appliances a steady grating on his nerves. Sivan was the only one occupying a bed. When the med team saw Ianus approach, they gave a nod and left to give them some privacy.

“How are you feeling, old man?” Ianus asked, sitting down at the edge of the sickbed.

Sivan cracked open one eye and gave a mandible twitch in greeting before gesturing for Ianus to hand him the water bottle from the bed stand.

“Could be better. Not like being cooked alive anymore,” he croaked after a greedy sip. His voice was still feeble, but whereas before, the calmness he’d displayed had been more of a compulsion to appear strong in front of the junior crew members, he had mostly returned to his regular self, exuding the even-tempered disposition Sivan Medina was famous for. A few more days under medical surveillance would see him back to health, and it filled Ianus with relief — almost more overwhelming than seeing Imperious at their escape. 

“Good to know.” 

Ianus had never been an especially touchy person, but he felt around for Sivan’s hand for a reassuring squeeze. He had started craving body contact since those nights spent sleeping alone on a hard floor. It was comforting. Maybe sometimes, there really was no need to have all the weight and decisions on his shoulders alone. Maybe sometimes, others could help carry the burden, and it wouldn’t take any of his authority from him. 

“I talked to your family,” Ianus said after sitting together quietly for a while. “I told them you were doing better. Alix was overjoyed.”

“Thank you.”

The relief in their faces when Ianus told the whole Medina family their father was in critical but stable condition had been almost tangible, even through the short vidcall and the few sentences they’d exchanged. Sivan didn’t get to see his family often, seen that they were all stationed on different ships, and even though he had never complained about being so far from them, Ianus knew it pained him. 

“Alix told me she’ll take time off as soon as she can, to see you. We’ll be home soon. The _ Talos _ has one more errand to run before heading back to the home system.”

“Good to hear. Can’t wait to return to the bridge. Where is Ker?”

Ianus stiffened at the mention. He’d managed to evade the batarian ever since on the _ Talos_, because no matter how much she’d helped them escape, the plates at the back of his neck prickled at seeing her, as if she was going to lunge at him at any time to plunge a knife into his back.

“Confined to her cabin,” Ianus growled back. He didn’t disguise his distaste with the alien.

“Maybe you should thank her. After all, she did save us. Would do you good,” Sivan said, a little sheepishly, looking up at Ianus with the meekest look he could muster.

“I… I can’t,” Ianus murmured, almost too low to pick up. “I can’t look at her without being reminded of my loss.”

“I know.” Sivan gave the hand holding his a reassuring squeeze when he noticed the way Ianus ghosted his fingertips along in an increasingly agitated manner. “Don’t you think it’s time to let go of the past? I’ve seen the report. It wasn’t your fault back then, lad. Your commander sent your team on a dangerous mission. You only followed orders.”

Orders… Yes. He’d been sent to almost certain death all those years ago. He’d known all along that the plan had been bad. And yet, he hadn’t questioned his superiors, not even after he was nursed back to health and handed a shiny new career. He’d executed orders. Simple as that. Just like Satine Vaenius, called back to Palaven despite her crew being held hostage. She had swallowed her doubts, continued her mission although it broke her heart. Ianus had always followed orders without questioning. Now, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

The memory frothed inside of him, a bitter mixture of regrets and flashbacks. Sivan was right, as he so often was, and yet Ianus couldn’t forgive himself. The hand not currently holding Sivan’s flew up to rake across his chest. Ianus touched the gash through the fresh, wretchedly tight undershirt he’d been given. Under his fingers, the jagged ridge stretched on, mercilessly. The scar would always be there, always remind him of those nine brave soldiers fighting under his command, all of which had perished at the hand of a bunch of ruthless slavers because of a miscalculation on their commander’s behalf. With a snarl, Ianus wrenched his hand off to dig into the mattress instead.

“Sivan, I see their faces, every day! Every day, I am reminded of how I failed my squad. I can pretend it didn’t happen, as long as I’m dressed, as long as I don’t see a spirits-forsaken batarian in front of my nose! But every evening I undress, that scar is there, just… reminding me of my failure. I try living up to it, to atone for my mistakes, but it’s never enough.”

Sivan exhaled.

“Help me up.”

There was a hint of frustration resonating in his subvocals. Not an accusation. It was more akin to a father being dissatisfied with their stubborn child. Even though they were both grown men, some things wouldn’t change.

Ignoring the unspoken reproach, Ianus fumbled around the interface to raise the backrest to a more upright position. Once done, he sat back down, his hand finding Sivan’s again.

“I can’t get over it, Sivan. I’m too deep in,” Ianus said.

Sivan inhaled, closing his eyes for a few seconds, as if to ground himself. When he set them back on Ianus, there was nothing but pure honesty and concern reflected in them.

“Ianus, let go. This is not from the XO to his captain. This is from me, an old man, to his best friend. I see you, and I see how much you pain yourself. You can fool the psychological tests and assessments, but not me. The memory poisons you, just like that broken leg poisoned me. No matter how much you try to be strong for everyone. In order to be strong, you must allow yourself to be soft and to make mistakes.” A faint squeeze of his hand, reassurance. “You won’t heal otherwise, lad! It’s been more than a decade. Go talk to Ker. She’ll help you heal.”

Ianus opened his mouth to argue, but he found himself unable to do so, as if all the automated motions, the habits he’d constructed in an attempt of shielding himself from the rest of the galaxy, were found to wobble. His mouth opened and closed a few times while he tried coming up with an answer. In the end he surrendered. Sivan’s kind regard was on him even when he hung his head in defeat.

“Go, Captain.”

Ianus didn’t have to reply. His hand squeezed Sivan’s a last time before he left, giving the medical officer on duty a curt nod. Time to get to terms with the past.

* * *

Ker was sitting on the edge of the bed nursing her daughter when the door opened, and made no move to stop even after Ianus had sat down in the chair opposite, looking at her. At Ker’s side lay a rumpled Hierarchy-issue undershirt. Like the others, she had been given a change of clothes, though since the _ Talos _ only carried military personnel, they’d all been given a set of standard fatigues without the rank stripe — even Ker who was way too small for hers and had a completely wrong body shape. The uniform pants’ waistband reached up to her ribcage, and around her hips, they hung limp and crumpled where hip spurs should have filled out the fabric.

“The girl told me why you hate my kind,” she said, when Ianus made no attempt at speaking. “I understand. You must have suffered.” Only after these words, she looked up. Her one free hand trailed the baby’s jowls while it suckled away, tiny smacking sounds odd in between the cold metal walls of a military vessel. To Ianus’ surprise, Ker’s voice carried no accusation. If anything, she sounded sympathetic, a fact that made Ianus angrier than if she’d held a grudge towards him. It wasn’t right, feeling compassionate towards one’s enemy. His fists clenched while he looked at her. Yet despite his aggressive stance, Ker sat there, nursing her infant, completely unashamed and devoid of any rage or resentment.

“I don’t know if it is any consolation. We’re not all monsters. We’re just trying to survive in a galaxy that abandoned us a long time ago,” she said when Ianus kept silent.

For a brief moment, he contemplated tanning Acilia’s hide for talking about personal things to outsiders, but he decided against it. They’d gone through enough, he could allow himself some slack. On the contrary, he did feel… relieved, almost, to know that someone knew his secret, the reason behind so many of his mannerisms. Whether it was one of his kind, or a batarian, didn’t matter in the end. With a huff, Ianus looked down at his hands and willed his fists to relax, smoothing his uniform trousers in an attempt to diffuse those confusing emotions.

“There is always a choice, no matter how dire the circumstances,” Ianus grumbled, talons digging into the fabric of the armrest. “And I will account for my past.”

“You’re doing good.” With one fingertip, Ker traced the baby’s face before looking back up. She blinked, all eyelids closing, and inclined her head in Ianus’ direction.

_ I trust you. _

When she spoke, her voice was soft, hinting at a more carefree past. “It will take time until batarian customs change. They will, we only have to be patient. I thank you for giving us a chance for a future, Captain Etherian. I will honour your gesture, and make sure it won’t be forgotten.”

Ianus exhaled, a testy little huff, as if to vent his discontent. No, it wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, and yet it resounded in him. Sometimes, circumstances were hard to endure, and even harder to change. But for every society, a new time would come. For some reason, deep inside, Ianus knew Ker was going to fight for those who weren’t yet strong enough. Her battle was only starting, same as his — he had to face those who had decided on leaving him behind. Maybe not only batarian customs had to change… Ianus needed answers, to right the wrong done to his crew. 

His nervousness was playing up again. The walls were starting to crowd in on him, the baby’s incessant sucking a steady grating on his patience. With a growl, Ianus rose from the chair, making a straight line for the exit. But he turned around in the door, inclining his head. A short, clipped nod, as it was appropriate of a Hierarchy captain.

“Thank you for not abandoning us, Ker. Appreciate it.”

Nobody had to know that Ianus Etherian gave his thanks to a batarian. He knew Ker could hold a secret.

* * *

They stopped to drop off Ker on a station known to allow refugees to appeal for asylum in Council space, with an authorization from both Captain Ianus Etherian of the Hierarchy Navy as well as Agent Imperious of Blackwatch. When it was time to say good-bye, Ianus couldn’t bring himself to voice his thanks in front of the others. Old habits died last, and one of them was that Captain Ianus wasn’t one to show emotion. He caught Ker‘s eye and managed a curt bob of the head in her direction before walking off without another look back. Behind him, a conversation blossomed, of new beginnings, and hope. Acilia’s laughter tinkled through the air. Even Leucen, with his translator turned back on, said something encouraging.

Ianus exhaled while he trudged up the shuttle ramp. So that was what understanding, and forgiveness, felt like. Light, somehow, as if a part of the dread had lifted off him. His fingers traced the scar on his chest, waiting for the familiar wave of regret and anger to wash through him, but all he felt was calm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are - at the end of my first (almost) novel-length multi chapter fic. It is both satisfaction and a little sadness that I find myself in, typing these words, and I want to extend a huge thanks to all those who stuck with me and the Cap'n until the end, who left a kudo and a comment, who kept me going. I hope you enjoyed it, that it made you squeal and shake your heads and groan and sigh in relief ... or made you feel any other emotion my words were able to elicit from you :)  
Thanks again for reading, and please let me know how you liked it - and if you'd like to read more!
> 
> Yours,  
Bronzie


End file.
